THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


"  front  the  deep  bosom  of  the  embowering  wood 

That  castle  rose" 
[Frontispiece.]  Page  14- 


GENEVIEVE   OF   BRABANT. 


A    LEGEND    IN   VERSE. 


BY 

MRS.    CHARLES  WILLING. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 

1879. 


Copyright,  1878,  by  J.  B.  LiVPiNCOTT  &  Co. 


TS 
-3313 


To  her  dear  memory,  who  my  nursery  hung 
With  pictures  of  the  lovely  lady  pale, 
The  saintly  Genoveva,  and  whose  tongue 
Interpreted  to  childish  ears  the  tale 
Of  love  o'er  which  no  treachery  could  prevail, 
I  dedicate  my  verse.     Slow  wane  the  years 
Since  that  blest  presence  passed  within  the  veil ; 
Yet  still  my  heart  the  perfect  music  hears 
Of  the  sweet  voice  whose  tone  the  legend  old  endears. 


626055 


THE  story  of  Genevieve  of  Brabant  has  been  told 
in  many  ways,  but  historic  incidents  and  localities  have 
still  been  preserved,  and  still  through  every  version 
runs  the  tale  of  woman's  love  and  faith,  fortitude  and 
patience,  of  deliverance  from  great  peril  and  preser- 
vation through  years  of  hardship  and  exposure,  of  a 
wife's  angelic  trust,  affection,  and  forgiveness,  and  a 
mother's  pure,  self-sacrificing  devotion.  Mrs.  Jame- 
son, in  her  "  Sacred  and  Legendary  Art,"  assures  us 
that  it  has  afforded  an  inexhaustible  subject  for  poetry, 
painting,  and  the  drama,  and  there  are  beautiful  pic- 
tures from  the  history  of  Genevieve  by  artists  of  the 
modern  German  school.  Germany  has,  however,  han- 
dled somewhat  rudely  the  legend  of  "  Genoveva,"  and 
France  depicts  her  "  Genevieve"  with  a  touch  alter- 
nately frivolous  and  profane.  England  has  been  just 
to  the  beautiful  and  tender  story,  but  has  given  it  to  us 
in  fragments  only.  In  the  following  attempt  to  repro- 


duce  it  in  our  own  language,  the  saintly  wife  and 
mother  bears  the  English  name  of  Genevieve.  "  I 
tell  the  tale  as  it  was  told  to  me,"  when  many  a  time 
at  twilight — the  children's  hour — visions  of  the  silver 
doe,  the  lovely  boy,  the  forest  glade,  passed  vividly 
before  our  eyes,  and  grew  yet  clearer  by  day,  when 
the  pictured  story,  in  its  series  of  softly-tinted 
sketches,  looked  down  on  us  from  our  nursery-walls, 
transforming  them  into  the  galleries  of  Siegfried's 
castle,  the  aisles  of  the  grand  old  wood,  and  the  dim 
or  fire-lighted  cave. 

May  the  legend,  doubly  sacred  to  me,  reveal  to 
other  young  hearts  glimpses  of  that  purity  and  sanc- 
tity of  wifehood  and  motherhood  which  dawned  on 
our  childish  comprehension  as  we  listened  to  it,  and 
fill  other  young  minds  with  lovely  pictures  of  the 
mother  and  child  in  their  forest-life,  sustained,  like 
His  humbler  creatures,  by  their  Heavenly  Father's 
care  !  It  sees  the  light  only  in  the  hope  of  aiding 
children  and  mothers  to  whom  a  harder  lot  than  life 
in  the  forest  is  assigned, — that  of  maintaining  in  a 
crowded  city  the  struggle  of  existence.  To  shelter, 
feed,  and  instruct  the  children  of  the  Poor  day  by 


7 

day,  and  thus  enable  mothers  to  earn  their  daily 
bread  by  labor,  while  the  little  ones  are  protected  and 
cared  for,  is  the  aim  of  the  DAY  NURSERY,  in  whose 
behalf  this  volume  is  printed,  and  to  which  any  means 
obtained  by  its  sale  will  be  devoted.  It  owes  much  to 
the  kind  and  liberal  aid  of  the  artists  by  whom  it  has 
been  illustrated. 

PHILADELPHIA,  1878. 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


ENGRAVED  BY  J.  W.  LAUDERBACH. 


SUBJECT  ILLUSTRATED. 
SIEGFRIED'S  CASTLE  (Frontispiece 
THE  BRABANT  SHORE 

"  SLOW   CREPT   THE   HOURS: 

MORNING  IN  THE  FOREST 
BAPTISM  OF  HUBERT 
EVENING  IN  THE  FOREST 
WARDER  ON  THE  CASTLE 
HUBERT  IN  THE  WOOD  . 
THE  SYRIAN  CONVENT  . 
THE  BARQUE  IN  THE  LEVANT 
THE  RETURN  TO  THE  CASTLE 


ARTIST. 

PAGE 

itispiece}.     F.  B.  Schell. 

. 

20 

;"  .         .     E.  B.  Bensell 

32 

. 

45 

55 

.     F.  B.  Schell  . 

.        64 

. 

74 

.     E.  B.  Bensell 

97 

. 

.       106 

ANT        .     F.  B.  Schell  . 

114 

>TLE         .     E.  B,  Bensell 

•       125 

GENEVIEVE  OF  BRABANT. 


GENEVIEVE  OF   BRABANT. 


PART     I. 


i. 

THE  day  was  over,  and  the  golden  light 
Of  summer  sunset  faded  o'er  a  scene 
Of  tranquil  beauty.     Hill  and  plain  were  bright 
In  their  soft  drapery  of  living  green ; 
Slow  winding   on,  the   wood-crowned  heights  be- 
tween, 

Flowed  the  broad  stream,  while  lifting  far  away 
Its  hoary  front,  a  castle  caught  the  sheen, — 
And  wall  and  battlement  and  turret  gray 
Glowed  in  the  mellow  light  of  the  departing  day. 
2  13 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 


From  the  deep  bosom  of  the  embowering  wood 
That  castle  rose,  witli  bastion,  keep,  and  tower, 
While  blooming  gardens  round  it  many  a  rood 
Wafted  rich  incense  from  herb,  leaf,  and  flower. 
There  stood  the  fortress  of  the  warrior's  power, 
Here  the  soft  solitude,  the  guarded  nest, 
With  dewy  fountain  and  with  rose-clad  bower, 
And  with  fair,  sculptured  terrace  toward  the  west, 
Where,  wrapt  in  converse  sweet,  gay,  gentle  dames 
might  rest. 

3- 

Here  shadowy  aisles  of  verdure  stretch  away 
To  twilight  grottos,  mossy  dells,  within 
Whose  cool  recesses  summer's  sultry  ray 
Was  never  felt,  nor  summer  sunlight  seen 
Save  when  the  light  winds  lift  some  leafy  screen 
And  give,  through  lengthening  vistas,  to  the  sight 
The  far-off  minster  tower,  the  tranquil  scene 
Of  wooded  vale  and  waving  upland  height, 
Or  fair  and   fertile   mead  bathed   in   heaven's   living 
light. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  15 

4- 

And  who  the  heir  of  all  this  wide  domain  ? 
Who  roams  these  bowers,  this  landscape  fair  sur- 
veys ? 

Look  where  upon  yon  casement's  pictured  pane 
The  dazzling  radiance  of  the  sunset  plays, 
Through  the  long  gallery  with  its  arches  gaze 
To  where  yon  chamber's  draperied  walls  receive 
Its  rich  warm  parting  glow,  for  there  its  rays, 
Its  dying  rays,  a  wreath  of  glory  weave 
About  a  fair  young  head,  the  head  of  Genevieve. 


5- 

Yes,  she  is  fair,  and  pure  is  she  as  fair, 
That  mother  bending  o'er  her  infant's  sleep ; 
Round  his  low  cradle  flows  her  clustering  hair, 
And  her  soft  eyes  love's  vigils  o'er  him  keep. 
Is  it  love's  shining  dews  those  soft  eyes  weep  ? 
Do  breathing  prayers  that  gentle  bosom  heave  ? 
No  !  tears  like  rain  the  heavy  eyelids  steep, 
And  sobs  burst  forth  ;  nor  sobs  nor  tears  relieve 
The  bitter  pang  that  rends  the  heart  of  Genevieve. 


16  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

6. 

How  gayly  shone  the  laughing  bridal  morn 
But  two  short  summers  since  on  that  young  brow  ! 
How  glowed  the  rose  of  girlhood's  blushing  dawn 
On  that  soft  cheek  all  flushed  and  fevered  now ! 
Siegfried,  Count  Palatine,  the  sacred  vow 
With  fervor  breathes  that  binds  him  to  her  side, 
And  as  before  the  holy  man  they  bow, 
Kneeling  in  love  and  youth  and  beauty's  pride, 
Who  deems  that  aught  but  joy  can  such  a  pair  be- 
tide? 

7- 

For  Siegfried  drew  from  many  a  noble  sire 
A  name  renowned  for  deeds  of  daring  high, 
And  the  proud  blood,  whose  unabated  fire 
Flushed  in  his  cheek  and  sparkled  in  his  eye. 
Nor  yet  to  Genevieve  did  Fate  deny 
A  stainless  lineage,  lofty  as  his  own, 
But  darkening  shadows  round  her  cradle  lie, 
And  quench  the  light  in  Brabant's  halls  that  shone  ; 
The  mother  dies,  and  leaves  her  hapless  babe  alone. 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT.  17 

8. 

Yet  sweetest  sympathies  had  found  their  place 

In  her  young  life  when  infancy  was  flown  ; 

With  mien  of  beauty  and  with  form  of  grace 

A  gentle  boy  of  Brabant's  house  had  grown 

Like  a  young  brother  by  her  side.     Alone 

In  those  vast  cheerless  halls,  by  them  made  fair, 

The   children    dwelt;    since    the    great    Duke    had 

shown 

A  kinsman's  love  and  bade  the  orphan  share 
The  shelter  of  his  home  and  its  protecting  care. 

9- 

Glad  was  the  hour  for  Genevieve  that  saw 
The  little  Bertram  with  the  holy  man, 
The  guide  and  guardian  of  his  childhood,  draw 
Near  to  the  castle  portal.     Swift  she  ran 
With  welcome  warm ;  with  kind  caress  began, 
Half-motherly,  to  cheer  the  lovely  child ; 
Then  reverent  knelt  for  blessing.     Worn  and  wan 
The  holy  father  o'er  her  bent,  and  smiled 
As  she  with  tender  cares  their  weariness  beguiled. 


1 8  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

10. 

Of  all  her  childhood  those  the  fairest  days ; — 
Sweet  days,  slow  lengthening  into  tranquil  years 
Of  peace  and  blessing      Tones  of  prayer  and  praise 
Gladly  that  strange,  secluded  household  hears, 
While  the  fair  children,  with  attentive  ears 
Gather  sweet,  solemn  tales  of  sacred  lore, 
And  knowledge  such  as  may  their  tender  years 
And  high  estate  befit ;  and  griefs  and  fears 
In  Father  Anselm's  day  approach  no  more 
The  dark  old  keep  beside  the  forest-girdled  shore. 


But  the  sweet  days  of  Bertram's  childhood  end, 
And  with  them  all  that  cheered  that  ancient  home. 
The  growing  boy  to  sterner  tasks  must  bend 
Body  and  soul.     To  distant  cities  roam, 
Must  learn  the  warrior's,  courtier's  skill ;  the  foam 
Of  the  salt  sea  must  taste  in  wanderings  lone. 
No  more  with  Father  Anselm  shall  he  come 
To  these  gray  halls.     Henceforth  to  him  unknown 
The  sheltered  nest  where  he  from  child  to  boy  had 
grown. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  19 

12. 

Nor  did  it  grieve  him,  for  the  tender  child, 
Changed  to  the  sturdy,  gladsome,  fearless  boy, 
Asked  for  a  wider  sphere.     The  great  world  smileu 
And  beckoned,  and  he  rushed  with  eager  joy 
To  learn  its  tasks  and  seek  its  large  employ. 
Yet  with  pure  heart  and  reverent  soul  he  went ; 
The  world  shall  not  degrade  him,  or  decoy 
To  aught  ignoble.     The  brief  parting  sent 
Its  pang  through  each  young  heart ;   then  forth   he 
rode  content. 


And  Father  Anselm  goes.     His  task  is  done ; 
Another  tender,  early  tie  is  rent 
With  warm  entreaty  Brabant's  Duke  had  won 
His  service,  but  his  years  must  now  be  spent 
In  holy,  hermit  solitude.     He  went 
With  blessings  on  the  home  he  left  forlorn  ; 
But  the  lone  child  soon  finds  her  sorrow  blent 
With  promise  of  a  gladness  yet  unborn, 
News  that  her  father  comes,  to  bring  a  fairer  morn. 


20  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

14. 

Alas  !  he  came  not  ;  from  his  widowed  home 
Great  Brabant's  Duke  must  lead  his  life  afar; 
Must  bide  in  camp  or  court,  or  farther  roam 
In  toils  of  State  and  sterner  tasks  of  war  ; 
And,  for  his  girl,  till  convent  gates  shall  bar 
Her  life  from  perils,  he  with  matron  state 
And  menial  service  guards  her.     He  the  Star 
Whose  nearer  shining  all  her  hopes  await. 
It    sets;  —  the    Duke    is    dead;  —  her    youth    is    deso- 
late. 


The  guardians  of  that  sorrow-darkened  home 
Gave  wholesome  care  and  their  mute  sympathy 
And  reverent  love,  and  left  her  free  to  roam 
'Mid  Nature's  sweet  companionship  ;  her  eye 
Might  watch  the  sunset  fade  along  the  sky, 
Her  footstep  press  the  untrodden  shore  alone 
At  purple  eve,  her  ear  might  catch  the  sigh 
Of  woods  responsive  to  the  wild  wind's  tone. 
Such  were  the  ministries    her  childhood's  grief  had 
known. 


"  Her  eye 

Might  watch  the  sunset  fade  along  the  sky, 
Her  footstep  press  the  tin  trodden  shore  alone  1 


Page  20. 


GENE VIE VE   OF  BRABANT.  2I 

16. 

Stately,  serene,  and  gentle  as  a  fawn 
Free  gliding  through  the  forest-coverts  green 
She  grew  to  girlhood.     Beautiful  as  dawn, 
Pure  as  the  dew.     On  her  angelic  mien 
Met  dignity  and  tenderness,  and  in 
Each  act  and  motion  lived  a  heavenly  grace, 
While,  as  sweet  violets  springing  all  unseen 
Declare  their  life  in  fragrance,  on  her  face 
Had    many  an   inward    charm    impressed    its    tender 
trace. 


Scarce  had  revolving  summers  ripened  all 
Her  maiden  loveliness  when,  from  the  field 
The  young  Count  Palatine,  his  lordly  hall 
Revisiting,  for  short  repose  appealed 
In  Brabant's  ancient  keep.     Her  beauty  filled 
The  barren  walls  with  gladness  to  his  sight, 
And  the  young  soldier,  nursed  in  arms  and  steeled 
To  tenderer  joys,  confessed  a  new  delight 
As  he  his  love,  his  faith,  his  life  to  her  did  plight. 


22  GENE  VIE  VE  OF  BRABANT. 

1  8. 

As  a  fair  folded  lily  of  the  wave 

Grows  by  some  lake's  lone  shore,  her  childhood 

grew  ; 

Idly  the  languid  currents  lift  and  lave 
The  nursling  flower;  the  cool  dark  shade  it  knew 
Of  leaf  and  cloud,  and  night  shed  down  her  dew; 
Such  was  its  life.     Sudden  the  shadow  cold 
Is  by  the  sun's  glad  splendor  smitten  through; 
With  starlike  gleam  the  petals  pure  unfold, 
And  lo!  the  lily's  heart  shines  warm  with  living  gold. 


Deep  in  her  nature  thus  had  lain  the  store 

Of  rich  and  warm  affections  all  concealed, 

Till  Love's  soft  touch  disclosed  the  golden  ore 

And  the  full  treasures  of  her  soul  revealed. 

Beneath  that  alchemy  how  sweetly  thrilled 

The  awakening  heart;    Love  filled  the  earth,  the 

sky, 

With  a  diviner  beauty  ;  Love  unsealed 
Hope's  sparkling  fountains,  bade  the  future  lie 
Fair  as  a  dream  of  Heaven  before  her  kindling  eye. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  23 

20. 

And  to  this  Paradise  did  Siegfried  bear 
The  lovely  prize  that  he  had  made  his  own, 
And  bade  the  fortress  of  his  fathers  wear 
A  gladness  its  gray  walls  had  never  known ; 
For  her  these  fragrant  gardens  spread  their  zone 
Of  bloom  and  verdure  round  the  dark  old  towers, 
For  her  these  fountains  sang  with  silver  tone, 
Beneath  her  spell  in  these  long  silent  bowers 
Minstrel    and    bard    beguiled    the    happy    summer 
hours. 

21. 

Brimmed  is  life's  cup  with  bliss  for  Genevieve, 
Fair  mistress  of  domain  so  passing  fair ; 
The  day  is  winged  with  gladness,  falling  eve 
Summons  to  home's  pure  joys  and  pastimes  rare. 
The  dainty  silk  and  wool  her  hands  prepare, 
She  shares  sweet  converse  with  her  maidens  gay, 
Or,  courteous,  makes  some  stranger  guest  her  care, 
Or  listens  to  the  bard's  low-chanted  lay, 
Or   bids    o'er   tuneful    strings    the    minstrel's   fingers 
play. 


24 


GENE  VIE VE   CF  BRABANT. 


22. 

But  more  than  these  delights,  oh !  more  than  all, 
Is  the  deep  blessing  of  a  husband's  love. 
Light  on  her  happy  heart  the  footsteps  fall 
Of  those  soft  hours  that  lead  her  forth  to  rove 
With  him  the  pathways  of  the  twilight  grove : 
Green  o'er  their  heads  its  dewy  arches  close, 
And  brightly  gleams  the  summer  moon  above, 
While  from  her  lips  love's  murmured  music  flows, 
And  warm  on  Siegfried's  tongue  the  tale  of  passion 
glows. 

23- 

Yes,  passion  filled  his  being;  she  the  adored, 
The  worshipped  idol  of  his  fiery  soul ; 
No  more  his  wild  ambition  madly  soared, 
But  in  her  love  its  object  found  and  goal ; 
No  longer  on  his  slumbering  fancy  stole 
The  busy  camp,  the  battle's  stern  array ; 
But  fierce  alike,  alike  without  control 
Each  impulse  that  his  wayward  heart  did  sway, 
Nor  trust,  nor  calm  repose  within  that  bosom  lay. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  35 

24. 

Still,  as  a  lovely  flower  that  seeks  the  beam 

Of  the  fierce  sun,  does  Genevieve  upraise 

To  him  her  looks  of  love;  still  does  he  seem 

All  bright  and  glorious  to  her  lifted  gaze. 

And  still  her  pure  and  fearless  heart  she  lays 

Open  to  meet  that  ardent  soul's  caress, 

Nor   knows   the    exulting    beam   that    round    her 

plays 

May  wither  when  she  deemed  it  could  but  bless, 
Nor  fears  to  trust  her  fond,  adoring  tenderness. 

25- 

Swift  sped  the  hours ;  if  fraught  not  all  with  bliss, 
Yet  with  such  ills  as  love  may  cause  or  cure; 
For  hearts  of  jealous  temper  scan  amiss 
The  unconscious  deeds  of  natures  frank  and  pure ; 
But  reconciliation  swift  and  sure 
Dispelled  each  shadow  envious  passion  made ; — 
Love's  sweet  and  gracious  handmaid  if  she  lure 
His  votary  not  too  oft  to  seek  her  aid  ; — 
The  torch  she  still  relumes  in  ashes  soon  is  laid. 


26  GENEV1EVE   OF  BRABANT. 

26. 

Swift  sped  the  hours,  nor  freighted  all  with  bliss, 
Yet  sorrow's  cloud  still  from  their  zenith  flies. 
Scarce  seems  to  Genevieve  its  shade  to  kiss 
Her  fair  horizon  ere  she  sees  arise 
A  second  morn  of  love.     Unconscious  lies 
The  bud  of  promise  on  the  mother's  breast, 
Fair  'neath  the  sunshine  of  the  mother's  eyes 
Unfolds  its  dawning  life,  securely  prest 
To  the  warm  heart  that  throbs  with  joy  too  deeply 
blest. 


27. 

And  Siegfried  bends  above  the  lovely  pair 
With  all  a  lover's  joy,  a  father's  pride, 
Sees  in  the  light  the  mother's  features  wear 
A  dearer  charm  than  graced  the  blooming  bride, 
Renews  each  vow,  and,  kneeling  at  her  side, 
Renounces  doubt,  distrust,  and  jealous  fear, 
Swears  that  henceforth,  whatever  may  betide, 
He  will  with  holiest  confidence  revere 
The  tender,  trustful  wife,  so  deeply,  doubly  dear. 


GENEV1EVE   OF  BRABANT.  2/ 

28. 

And  fresh  within  her  heart  a  fountain  wells 
By  motherhood's  sweet  suffering  new-create  ; 
With  loftier  aims  and  nobler  wishes  swells 
The  awakening  soul.     Life  shall  be  consecrate  ; — 
Life,  rich  in  love,  with  joy  and  hope  elate, 
Shall  be  not  glad  alone,  but  bright  with  dew 
Of  holy  deeds.     Ah  !  fires  must  renovate, 
Must  melt  and  mould  the  argent  ore  anew, 
Ere  glad  and  grateful  hearts  learn  to  be  holy  too. 

29. 

Across  their  radiant  noon  the  shadow  steals 
That,  swiftly  gathering,  darkens  all  their  day. 
The  princely  Charles  Martel  for  aid  appeals, 
Calls  knight  and  noble,  near  and  far  away, 
To  check  the   Moorish   hordes  who  spread  their 

sway 

O'er  Christian  lands.     In  vast  and  proud  array 
They  rally  to  his  standard.     Siegfried  learns 
With  quivering  heart  the  summons.      Can  he  stay  ? 
Ah,  no !  the  inglorious  tenderness  he  spurns, 
And  from  home's.paradise  with  knightly  valor  turns. 


28  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

30- 

As  bright-winged  birds  that  hear  the  storm  afar 
And  seek  their  woodland  nests  in  haste  and  dread, 
With  the  first  murmured  note  of  gathering  war 
The  lovely  band  of  maiden  guests  had  fled. 
But  o'er  their  homes  the  thunder-cloud  had  spread; 
Each  lordly  household  shuddering  heard  the  knell 
Of  joy  as  sire  and  son  to  danger  sped : 
Sweet  maiden  heads  were  bowed  in  anguish  fell, 
And  lovely  maiden  lips  to  lovers  said  farewell. 


And  how  the  gentle  dove  within  his  nest 
And  her  dear  fledgling  now  may  Siegfried  guard  ? 
Faithful  retainers  shall  each  tower  invest, 
And  the  strong  seneschal  keep  watch  and  ward ; — 
Hugo,  the  seneschal,  cold,  silent,  hard, 
But,  as  his  lord  believes  him,  staunch  and  true. 
Ah  !  baleful  was  the  hour  and  evil-starred 
The  gray  Elfrida,  with  her  sons,  did  sue 
For  Siegfried's  service ;  a  false,  base,  and  treacherous 
crew! 


GENEV1EVE   OF  BRABANT. 


29 


32. 

Within  the  castle  long  the  glozing  dame, 
Needy  and  skilful,  had  her  sway  maintained, 
And  ruled  supreme  till  its  fair  mistress  came. 
For  her  bold  sons  their  master's  trust  she  gained ; 
At  home,  abroad,  the  younger,  Rolf,  remained 
The  Count's  near  servitor,  and  still  her  power 
Elfrida  o'er  the  menial  band  retained : 
Her  lord  she  loved  not,  nor  the  tender  flower 
Transplanted  to  his  home  in  youth's  sweet  morning 

hour. 

33- 

Now  in  the  castle  court  the  chargers  neigh, 
Ring  the  sharp  spurs,  the  pennons  wave  in  air, 
The  lances  gleam.     One  moment's  fond  delay 
As  Siegfried's  blessing,  Genevieve's  low  prayer, 
Mingle  in  broken  murmurs.     To  the  care 
Of  the  strong  seneschal  and  matron  gray 
He  yields  her  with  a  pang  wellnigh  despair. 
"  Ah,  Hugo  !  guard  thy  lady  well,"  he  cries, 
"And  my  sweet  babe.     No  longer  must  I  stay." 
"  God  be  our  guard,  my  love  !"  she  low  replies, 
"And  thine,"  with  faltering    lips,  then  mute,  uncon- 
scious lies. 


3o  GENE 'VIE 'VE   OF  BRABANT. 

34- 

Clear  through  the  noontide  rang  the  trumpet's  note 
While  Genevieve  all  pale  and  lifeless  lay : 
And  now  its  strains  in  echoing  distance  float, 
And  now  in  breathing  music  melt  away; 
Nor  pulse  nor  motion  aught  of  life  betray 
In  that  sweet  sculptured  face  and  marble  form, 
Till,  with  soft  touch,  the  lovely  child  in  play, 
Clings  to  her  breast.     Then  surges  the  swift  storm 
Of  tears :    she  clasps  her  babe  with  sudden  rapture 
warm. 

35- 

Yet  rushes  once  again  the  whelming  tide 
Of  anguish  over  heart  and  brain.     Alone, 
Save  the  dear,  helpless  infant  at  her  side 
And  his  young  nurse,  she  breathes  her  bitter  moan: 
"  Ah,  Siegfried  !  can  I  live  when  thou  art  gone, 
Who  art  my  all,  more  dear  than  life  to  me  ! — 
Friend,  father,  lover,  husband,  all  in  one  ? 
Yet  no !  not  all ;  my  boy,  I  live  for  thee  ! 
Thy  dear,  dear   father's   face  God   grant   us   yet   to 
see  1" 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT.  31 

36. 

Unlearned  in  sympathy,  the  kindly  nurse 

Now  her  sweet  charge  with  noisy  prattle  charms, 

The  cavalcade's  long  splendors  would  rehearse, 

Mimic  the  trumpet's  shrill  and  loud  alarms; 

The  lovely  lady  yields  him  to  her  arms, 

And  seeks  by  prayer  and  solitude  to  win 

Peace   in    her   woe.     Heaven   shield    her   from   all 

harms ! 

For  she  is  young,  alone,  no  friend  within 
Her  home,  and  the  dark  hours  of  pain  and  dread  begin. 

.  37- 

Slow  crept  the  days ;  yet  one  fond  hope  fulfilled 
Brought  solace  to  the  heart  whence  joy  had  fled, 
News  from  her  lord  the  first  sharp  pang  has  stilled 
And  o'er  the  gloom  a  gleam  of  gladness  shed. 
On  many  a  fervent  word  her  love  has  fed, 
Traced  by  his  hand.     Weary  and  travel-spent 
Full  many  a  courier  to  her  portal  sped ; 
Still,  with  her  fond  response,  returning,  went, 
And,  skilled  in  letters,  Rolf  and  Hugo  sent 
Still  many  a  scroll  and  screed  from  castle  and  from  tent. 


32  GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT. 

38. 

Slow  crept  the  hours ;  for  now  the  weary  day 
No  tidings  brings.     The  Palatine  must  gain 
The  heart  of  France,  must  urge  his  arduous  way 
Westward  to  Tours,  then  o'er  the  southern  plain 
Down  toward  the  mountain  wall  of  sunny  Spain. 
No  courier  comes,  but  rumors  far  and  near 
Of  shock  of  battle  and  of  frequent  fray ; 
No  news  from  him  to  Genevieve  most  dear. 
With  love  and  trust  and  prayer  she  strives  to  con- 
quer fear. 

39- 

The  long,  bright  day  declines.     Across  the  plain 
The  warder  on  the  castle's  utmost  height 
Descries,  slow  winding  on,  a  weary  train, 
Seen  clear  against  the  sunset's  waning  light ; 
And,  in  their  midst,  a  sorely-wounded  knight 
Couched  on  a  litter,  tenderly  upborne 
By  men-at-arms,  with  face  all  deathly  white 
'Neath  the  fair  beard  and  waving  locks  unshorn. 
The    warder    gazed    aghast,    and    blew    his    signal- 
horn. 


Page  32. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 


33 


40. 

They  gain  the  encircling  wood,  the  castle  walls, 
Their  pallid  burden  toward  the  portal  bear ; 
Now,  at  their  near  approach,  the  drawbridge  falls, 
And  in  the  hall  they  lay  with  tender  care 
The  helpless  form, — a  youth,  with  golden  hair 
Enframing  the  wan  brows.     The  court-yard  rings 
With  clamor;  and  in  terror  down  the  stair, 
Trembling  and  faltering,  Genevieve  half  clings, 
Half  falls ;    a   stricken    dove   hasting  with   wounded 

wings. 

41. 

Beside  the  knight  she  drops  on  bended  knee. 

"  Bertram  !  my  Bertram  !     Is  it  thou  ?"  she  cries. 

"  Oh,  not  the  face,  the  form  I  feared  to  see, 

But  thine !"     The  fainting  boy  uplifts  his  eyes, 

"  My  Genevieve !"  in  murmur  low  replies, 

"Summon  the  leech!"    she   calls.      "Bring   food, 

bring  wine ! 

Haste,  Hugo!  haste,  Elfrida !  ere  he  dies! 
The  eastern  tower  prepare ;  the  task  be  thine 
To  nurse  and  tend  him,  and,  thank    God !    'tis   also 
mine." 

3 


34  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

42. 

A  moment  o'er  the  chiselled  features  fair 
She  bends,  while  tender  tears  begin  to  flow. 
From    the   scarred   brow    she    lifts    the    clustering 

hair; 

Relief  from  mortal  dread  and  pity  glow 
On  her  sweet  face.     "  Elfrida,  Hugo,  know 
Bertram  of  Brabant  is  the  knight  you  see. 
Now  let  his  followers  gently  lift,  and  slow 
And  softly  bear  him.     Tended  let  him  be 
As  would  thy  lord,  for  near  and  dear  he  is  to  me." 


43- 

Siegfried  is  safe,  and  Bertram  she  may  save ; — 
A  double  joy  gave  warmth  to  every  word. 
But  Hugo,  cold  and  silent  as  the  grave, 
With  dark  suspicion  the  glad  accent  heard  ; 
Sneered  in  his  heart,  "  Aye,  tended  like  my  lord.'" 
The  while  his  lips  their  servile  answer  spake. 
The  leech  is  come.     Reviving  cordials  poured 
Through  the  pale  lips,  the  stalwart  bearers  take 
Their  way.     Slow  follows  old  Elfrida  in  their  wake. 


GENE 'VIE VE   OF  BRABANT.  35 

44. 

Wounded  in  France  in  the  first  deadly  fray, 
As  Bertram  fell  he  cried,  "  My  body  bear 
To  Brabant!"  and  then  speechless,  lifeless  lay. 
Slow  journeying  on,  his  sad  retainers  fare 
With  their  young,  dying  lord ;  through  sunset  air 
See  Siegfried's  towers  in  golden  distance  rise. 
In  that  strange  hall,  where  torches  round  him  glare, 
A  sister's  face,  a  sister's  tender  cries, 
Greet  him,  as  life's  last  light  seems  fading  from  his  eyes. 

45- 

Through  weary  weeks  the  flickering  flame  she  guards 
With  pure,  firm  skill,  and  tireless  sympathy ; 
Now  dawning  health  her  watchful  care  rewards, 
Tints  the  wan  cheek  and  lights  the  languid  eye. 
Weeks  grow  to  months,  his  life  one  constant  sigh 
For  his  far  home,  and  for  the  fair  young  bride 
So  nearly  made  his  own  by  holiest  tie, 
When  'twixt  them  swept  war's  fierce,  o'ermastering 

tide 
And  severed  the  young  knight  far  from  his  darling's 

side. 


36  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

46. 

This  tale  of  love  and  sorrow,  day  by  day, 
Told  by  pale  lips  in  many  a  broken  word, 
While  still  her  patient  prisoner  Bertram  lay, 
All  Genevieve's  sweet  soul  with  pity  stirred. 
Strong,  glad,  and  free  once  more,  the  uncaged  bird 
Plumes    him    for   flight.     She  speeds    him   on    his 

course ; 

Bids  him  secure  the  bliss  too  long  deferred. 
Their  kind  farewells  are  said ;  with  youthful  force 
Restored,  at  last  he  springs  upon  his  eager  horse. 

47- 

On  the  fair  sculptured  terrace  toward  the  west, 
That  crowns  the  steep  and  laurel-shaded  height, 
Her  lovely  boy  in  her  fond  arms  caressed, 
Serene  she  stands  in  morning's  early  light. 
Gay  float  the  pennons,  gleam  the  lances  bright, 
She  waves  a  last  adieu  to  Bertram's  train, 
Gazes  till  plume  and  spear  are  lost  to  sight, 
Then,  turning,  sees  across  the  distant  plain 
A  courier  band  o'erspent,  riding  with  slackened  rein. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  37 

48. 

High  throbs  her  heart,  alike  with  hope  and  fear. 
Tidings  !  yet,  ah  !  what  tidings  ? — of  her  lord. 
Bearers  of  joy  or  sorrow,  they  are  here. 
Trembling  she  seeks  her  bower;  she  breathes  no 

word, 

But  all  her  fervent  soul  in  prayer  outpoured 
Asks  for  her  Siegfried.     Would  that  it  were  he, 
From  war  and  danger  to  her  arms  restored ! 
Voices  approach,  and  footsteps, — there  are  three ! 
Elfrida,  Hugo—"  Thou  '—Rolf!     Is  it  thou  I  see  ?" 

49- 

With  failing  heart  and  quivering  lip  she  cries, 
"  Where  is  thy  lord  ?     Art  thou  but  sent  before  ? 
When  comes  he  ?"     With  cold  insult  Rolf  replies, 
"  He  sends  me,  but  to  thee  he  comes  no  more. 
His  woe,  his  curse  art  thou  !     Thy  sin  deplore ! 
Repent  till  speedy  death  shall  set  thee  free  ! 
These  lofty  chambers  of  the  western  tower, 
Until  that  day  thy  living  tomb  shall  be ! 
Hugo  and  I  thy  guard,  Elfrida  holds  the  key !" 


38  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

50. 

Horror  dilates  her  eye  and  pales  her  cheek, 
But  firm  her  tone :  "  My  Siegfried  is  no  more ! 
Were  he  not  dead  thou  hadst  not  dared  to  speak 
Thus  to  his  wife.     False  servant,  bar  the  door ! 
I  fear  no  tomb  !     The  cold  earth  closes  o'er 
My  lord,  my  love,  and  life  henceforth  to  me 
Is  sad  as  death.     Would  I  had  died  before 
This  bitter  day !     Oh,  take  me  back  to  Thee, 
FATHER  !   since   that   dear   face    I    never   more    may 
see." 


Soul-struck,  appalled,  yet  brave  in  her  despair, 
She  speaks  in  thrilling  accents  clear  and  low. 
Cruel  and  fierce  Rolf  answers  her.     "  I  bear 
His  written  sentence ;  and  thou  yet  shalt  know 
By  vengeance  duly  earned  and  sure,  though  slow, 
That  Siegfried,  the  Count  Palatine,  thy  lord, 
Lives, — but  to  curse  thee  as  his  deadliest  foe !" 
Courage  to  anguish  yields  at  that  dread  word, 
Sight  fails  and  sense,  her  heart  pierced  with  a  keen- 
edged  sword. 


GENE 'VIE VE   OF  BRABANT. 


39 


52. 

The  dreadful  hours  go  by ;  the  wide  domain 
Lies  in  the  last  sweet  light  of  summer  days, 
While  on  the  lofty  casement's  pictured  pane 
Still  the  clear  radiance  of  the  sunset  plays. 
Now  through  the  noble  gallery's  arches  gaze 
To  where  yon  chamber's  ample  walls  receive 
Its  dazzling,  dying  glow,  for  there  its  rays 
A  martyr's  crown,  a  saint's  bright  halo  weave 
About    the    fair    young    head    of    kneeling    Gene- 
vieve. 

53- 

The  prisoned  wife,  the  mother  pure  as  fair, 
Bends  in  her  anguish  o'er  her  infant's  sleep, 
Round  his  low  cradle  flows  her  clustering  hair, 
And  her  sad  eyes  love's  vigils  o'er  him  keep. 
No  tender  shining  dews  those  sad  eyes  weep, 
No  gentle  sighs  that  tortured  bosom  heave: 
Hot  tears,  like  rain,  the  heavy  eyelids  steep, 
And  sobs  burst  forth,  nor  sobs  nor  tears  relieve 
The    bitter    pang    that   rends    the    heart   of    Gene- 


40  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

54- 

Still  she  implores  where  none  implore  in  vain 
Light  on  her  path  and  comfort  in  her  woe. 
Her  bursting  heart  and  her  bewildered  brain 
No  single  faithless  thought  of  Siegfried  know  : 
"  From  that  dear  hand  I  fear  no  murderous  blow. 
It  is  thy  life,  my  boy,  not  mine  alone, 
They  aim  at."     Then  swift,  sudden  memories  show 
The  postern  key,  by  Siegfried  made  her  own, 
Opening  the  western  tower  through  caverned  arch  of 
stone. 

55- 

The  time,  the  place  come  back  to  her  again 
When  half  in  sport  he  gave  it  to  her  care ; 
Amid  her  guarded  treasures  it  had  lain 
Forgotten.     Swift  she  seeks  and  finds  it  there. 
The  panelled  wall  she  knows,  the  narrow  stair 
Down  to  the  vaulted  way,  the  postern  door : 
Dim  dawns  the  light  through  mists  of  dread  despair: 
The  hooded  gown  that  Father  Anselm  wore, 
Treasured  for  his  dear  sake,  her  hands  unfold  once 
more. 


PART    II. 


i. 

THAT  sad  day's  sun  goes  down;  on  draperied  wall 
And  pictured  window  dies  the  golden  light ; 
And  o'er  her  deathly  sorrow,  like  a  pall, 
Gathers  the  welcome  shade  of  falling  night. 
Scarce  in  the  sky  the  guiding  stars  are  bright, 
When  through  the  darkness  steals  a  trembling  form 
With  friar's  gown  and  hood  all  close  bedight. 
Pressed  to  her  bosom,  stilling  half  the  storm 
Of  anguish  there,  her  babe  lies  tranquil,  hushed,  and 
warm. 

41 


42  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

2. 

Through  shadowy  garden-paths,  where  every  flower 
Gave  to  the  summer  night  its  incense  rare, 
Past  her  own  fountain,  past  her  rose-clad  bower, 
Out  through  the  dewy  woodland  arches  fair, 
She  trod  with  trembling  haste,  but  tender  care. 
Rapid,  yet  sure,  her  light,  firm  footstep  fell, 
Pausing  at  sighings  of  the  summer  air, 
Then  hurrying  on  through  copse  and  bosky  dell, 
Her  heart  to  each  dear  scene  breathing  its  mute  fare- 
well. 

3- 

On  through  the  long  ravine,  her  little  treasure 
Pressed  closer  to  her  breast ;  on  o'er  the  plain  ; 
None  but  a  mother's  love,  surpassing  measure, 

.     Could  strength  and  power  from  such  dear  burden 

gain; 

Swift  fly  the  feet,  the  quivering  nerves  maintain 
Their  steadfast  effort.     Now  the  distant  hill 
She  climbs,  and  still  her  eager  footsteps  strain, 
Before  the  rising  midnight  moon  shall  fill 

The  world  with  light,  to  reach  the  forest  dark  and  still. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 


43 


4- 

On,  on  !   till  like  a  wall  across  the  wold 
Rises  the  ancient  forest,  vast  and  grand, 
And  the  great  sanctuary's  arms  enfold 
And  shield  her  'neath  God's  own  protecting  hand. 
Her  feet  upon  the  mossy  wood-path  stand; 
Onward  she  presses  o'er  the  untrodden  ways, 
Till  love  no  longer  can  her  frame  command; 
Fainting,  her  darling  on  the  turf  she  lays, 
And  sinks   beside   him   'mid   the  forest's  darkening 
maze. 

5- 

But  now  he  lifts  the  bitter,  wailing  cry 
Of  hunger ;  and  the  mother  hath  no  food  : — 
With  fright  and  horror  every  vein  is  dry : 
For  him  her  love  each  terror  has  withstood, 
The  lonely  perils  of  the  darksome  wood, 
The  homeless  misery,  the  fearful  strife 
With    dread    exhaustion.      "  FATHER  !      Thou    art 

good ! 

Let  not  my  baby  perish!"     Like  a  knife 
Still  his  sharp  wail  pierces  each  source  of  ebbing  life. 


44  GENEV1EVE   OF  BRABANT. 

6. 

"  Is  it  a  dream  ?"     The  silver  moonlight  stealing 
Through  columns  high,  lay  on  a  forest  glade, 
Green  bowery  walls  and  grassy  floor  revealing, 
Checkered  with  softly  shifting  light  and  shade ; 
Sparkling  and  clear  beneath  the  moonbeam  played 
A  crystal  spring,  with  murmur  sweet  and  low, 
And,  wondrously,  beside  the  babe  was  laid, 
Nursing  him  as  her  fawn,  a  fair,  white  doe, 
While   through    his  rosy  lips  the  pure,  sweet  milk- 
streams  flow. 

7- 

"  Is  it  a  dream  ?  or  are  we  saved  ?"  she  cries, 

Sheltered  and  fed  by  Power  and  Love  Divine  ? 

"  Is  this  the  blessed  rest  of  Paradise  ? 

Are  these  the  lights  of  Paradise  that  shine 

In  pure  pale  splendor  round  us  ?     Ah,  benign 

And  bountiful  and  tender  FATHER,  deign 

To    hear    my   thanks    and    praise !"     Peace  comes 

again, 
And    floods   with   sleep   the    o'erwearied   heart   and 

brain. 


"  Then  gathers  her  dear  babe  close  in  her  lwin>j  arms." 


GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT. 


45 


8. 

She  wakes;  the  morning  through  the  forest  gleam- 
ing 

Clothes  in  warm  gold  tall  trunk  and  tender  bough, 
And  rosy  lights  through  leafy  loopholes  streaming 
Touch  the  small  baby  hand  and  cheek  and  brow, 
And  tint  the  doe's  pure  form,  that  pillows  now 
The  little  head  with  golden  ringlets  fair; 
O'er  them  green  branch  and  vine  and  tendril  bow, 
And  bend  and  wave  in  wafting  summer  air. 
The    grateful    mother's    soul    is    filled  with    thankful 
prayer. 

9- 

She  plucks  the  spicy  berries,  and  the  fruit 
Of  the  sweet  amber  plum ;  the  great  oaks  fling 
Their  acorns  at  her  feet,  and  from  the  root 
Of  chestnuts  tall  she  sees  fast  ripening 
The  stores  which  yet  the  autumn  days  shall  bring 
To  guard  her  life  from  famine's  dread  alarms ; 
She  drinks  cool  draughts  from  the  refreshing  spring, 
Asks  God  to  shield  her  Siegfried  from  all  harms, 
Then  gathers  her  dear  babe  close  in  her  loving  arms. 


46  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

10. 

The  milk-white  doe  rises  and  moves  away, 
Returns  and  moves  again.     Then  Genevieve, 
Dreading  to  lose  from  sight  the  only  stay 
Of  her  dear% infant's  life,  howe'er  she  grieve 
The  lovely  glade  and  crystal  spring  to  leave, 
All  sadly  follows ;  sees  the  gentle  doe 
Lift  the  thick  screen  that  vine  and  tendril  weave, 
And,  with    lithe   form   and   graceful    head   bowed 

low, 
A  secret  covert  enter,  gliding  soft  and  slow. 


II. 

Bending,  she  passes  'neath  the  mantling  vine, 
Stands  in  an  ample  cave,  with  moss-spread  floor, 
Through   the  fair  screen  the  flickering  sunbeams 

shine, 

The  grassy  forest  glade  extends  before 
The  hidden  portal,  and  the  bubbling  rill 
Sparkles  beside  it.     Surely  here  of  yore 
Some  hermit  dwelt.     The  wholesome  crusts  yet  fill 
His  dish ;  his  mossy  couch  is  fresh  and  fragrant  still. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  47 

12. 

The  gentle  doe  has  gained  her  wonted  home ; 
On  the  soft  carpet  now  she  couches,  white 
As  some  fair  creature  formed  from  ocean's  foam, 
Touched  with  pure  gleams  of  wavering  opal  light 
When   through   the   wafted   leaves   the   sunbeams 

bright 

Caress  her  form.     She  lifts  her  soft  dark  eyes, 
And  look  and  motion  the  dear  babe  invite ; 
With  glad  response  the  mother  swift  replies, 
And  pillowed  by  the  doe  once  more  the  infant  lies. 


13- 

Thus  passed  the  wondrous  day,  in  murmured  prayer 
And  blissful  rest;  by  Genevieve  the  flight 
Of  the  swift  hours  unheeded.     All  her  care 
She  casts  on  Him  who  made  her  darkness  light, 
Who  guided  every  faltering  step  aright 
Of  her  dread  journey,  and  will  guide  her  still. 
In  faith  and  hope  she  meets  the  coming  night, 
Eats  of  the  crust  and  drinks  from  the  clear  rill, 
And  sleeps,  while  holy  trust  and  love  her  bosom  fill. 


48  GENE 'VI 'EVE   OF  BRABANT. 

14. 

Slow  comes  the  pearly  dawn,  and  every  bird 
Lifts  its  clear  carol  as  the  morning  breaks, 
And  whispering  tree-tops,  by  the  light  winds  stirred. 
Breathe  their  low  music.     Genevieve  awakes. 
In  grateful,  sweet  security  she  slakes 
The  thirst  of  nerve  and  limb.     On  honeyed  fruit, 
Cherry  and  plum,  her  matin  meal  she  makes. 
For  the  dear  doe  she  plucks  each  tender  shoot 
From    chestnut-boughs,   then    gains    the   cave   with 
flying  foot. 

IS- 

Now  seated  on  the  grass,  her  thick,  fair  tresses 
To-day  all  freshly  bound,  the  wandering  breeze, 
Wafting  light  locks,  her  sweet,  pure  face  caresses  ; 
The  graceful  forest  creature  stands  at  ease, 
Faithful  and  fond,  beside  her ;  on  her  knees, 
Gently  uplifted,  sits  the  lovely  boy, 
Drinking  fresh  health  and  life.     The  mother  sees 
With  fervent  gratitude  his  sweet  employ, 
And   her  sad    soul    breathes  out  in  song  its   tender 
joy. 


GENE 'VI 'EVE  OF  BRABANT. 

Ah,  my  baby  !  sweetest  treasure  ! 
Kindest  thou  a  perfect  pleasure 

In  thy  pure,  delicious  food? 
Dimpled  hand  and  rosy  finger 
On  thy  doe,  caressing,  linger, 

Thanking  her,  for  she  is  good. 
I  will  thank  HIM,  too,  who  gave  us 
This  dear  sylvan  friend,  to  save  us 

In  the  wild  and  lonely  wood. 

With  no  gems  can  mother  deck  thee, 
But  the  jewelled  sunbeams  fleck  thee, 

Little  darling  baby  mine  ! 
Playing  o'er  our  small  green  meadow, 
Ruby  light  and  emerald  shadow 

On  my  baby  glance  and  shine  ; 
In  thy  coronet  could  cluster 
None  of  fairer  gleam  and  lustre, 

Though  thou  art  of  princely  line. 

Listen,  darling  !     Once  another 
Sorrowing,  terror-stricken  mother 

Fled  by  night  to  save  her  child. 
Thou  shalt  hear  that  wondrous  story, 
For  HE  was  the  Lord  of  Glory, 

She,  the  Blessed  Mother  mild. 
HE  will  guide  my  baby's  father, 
And  my  little  flower  will  gather 

Yet  from  out  the  forest  wild. 


49 


5o  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

16. 

In  brooding  tones  like  note  of  woodland  dove 
At  first  the  song  in  murmured  music  rose, 
While  the  full  heart  the  measured  accents  wove; 
Then  clearer  from  her  parted  lips  it  flows, 
Till  now  with  faith  supreme  her  bosom  glows, 
And,  with  sweet,  musing  eyes  bent  on  the  ground, 
She,  like  the  nightingale,  forgets  her  woes 
In  melody,  and  all  the  glade  around 
Thrills  with  the  fulness  of  pure,  glad,  harmonious 
sound. 


Pausing,  the  lady  slowly  lifts  her  eyes. 
What  vision,  glimmering  through  the  distant  trees, 
Arrests  her  throbbing  heart  with  dread  surprise, 
And  seems  the  very  founts  of  life  to  freeze  ? 
Slow  moving  on  a  dark-robed  form  she  sees, 
Nearer  and  nearer  still  the  footsteps  press  ; 
The  doe  has  caught  the  sound  upon  the  breeze  ;  — 
But  silver  beard  and  hands  upraised  to  bless 
Calm  her.      The  doe  bounds  toward  its  friend  with 
fond  caress. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  5I 

1 8. 

And  now  the  sacred  garb  quells  all  her  fears ; 
The  reverend  form  her  looks  with  rapture  greet ; 
She  bends,  her  soul  dissolved  in  gracious  tears, 
And  kneels  in  mute  thanksgiving  at  his  feet. 
She  lifts  her  eyes;  his  kind,  dark  eyes  they  meet. 
What  dream  of  other  days  each  sense  enthralls  ? 
"  Peace  to  thee,  daughter !"  Low  the  voice  and  sweet : 
"  Oh,  father !     /  am  Genevieve"  she  calls, 
While    Father  Anselm's   arm    upholds   her   ere   she 
falls. 

19. 

"  My  child !  my  Genevieve  !  lone  wandering  dove ! 
With  this  sweet  nursling  in  the  woods  astray? 
On  some  gay  journey  hither  dost  thou  rove, 
And  hast  thou  missed  thy  escort  by  the  way  ? 
Where  is  thy  steed, — thy  squire?  for  far  away 
I  know  thy  own  Count  Palatine  must  be." 
"  Ah,  father,  father !  for  my  Siegfried  pray  ! 
And  pray  for  this,  his  boy,  and  pray  for  me ! 
Exiles   from   love,   from    home,  from   life   itself  are 


52  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

2O. 

With  many  a  bitter  tear  and  rising  sob 
She  tells  the  strange,  brief  tale  of  woe  and  wron<: 
Still  'mid  her  anguish  quickening  pulses  throb 
With  sense  of  sure  deliverance  sweet  and  strong, 
And  tender  childish  memories  thickly  throng 
About  her  heart  and  lighten  present  pain  ; 
The  forest-girdled  shore,  forgotten  long, 
The  gray  old  towers  come  back  to  her  again. 
Ah !  surely  peace  and  joy  are  not  forever  slain. 


21. 

Then  swift  she  cries,  "  But  thou !   how  cam'st  thou 

here, 

My  father?     What  strange  miracle  is  this 
That  brings  thy  presence,  chasing  half  my  fear, 
And  changing  lonely  terror  into  bliss  ?" 
"  Dear  suffering  child  !  from  danger's  dread  abyss 
GOD  led  thee  to  my  very  dwelling-place. 
Sore  did  my  doe  her  little  dead  fawn  miss, 
Two  days  I've  sought  a  nursling  in  its  place; 
But  lo !  its  death  hath  saved  this  babe  of  noble  race. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 


53 


22. 

"The  cavern's  southern  slope  hath  been  my  home 
Through   the   long  years.     There   rises   this   clear 

spring, 

And  there  shalt  thou  with  me,  dear  daughter,  come 
And  see  my  little  garden  blossoming, 
And  this  dear  infant  thither  oft  shall  bring ; 
But  at  this  eastern  entrance,  with  the  doe, 
Thy  nest  shall  be.     All  bright  birds  on  the  wing, 
And  hare,  and  fawn,  and  kid,  thy  boy  shall  know, 
And  pure,  and  strong,  and  wise  in  forest  lore  shall 

grow. 

23- 

"  And  thou,  dear  lady  Genevieve,  shalt  be 
My  daughter  till  that  hour  thy  lord  shall  know 
Thy  refuge  and  thy  face  again  shall  see. 
The  grain  that  in  the  spring  these  hands  did  sow 
Together  we  will  harvest.     Thou  shalt  grow 
Familiar  with  thy  forest  home,  shalt  learn 
The  grace  of  herb  and  plant ;  and  then  I  go 
To  seek  thy  Siegfried,  nor  will  I  return 
Except   with   him   for   whom    thy  heart   and   being 
yearn." 


54  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

24. 

No  words  her  thanks  can  utter,  but  her  eyes 
Lifted  in  silent  reverence  to  his  face, 
And  quenchless  sobs  that  from  her  bosom  rise. 
And  the  slow-streaming  tears  that  gently  chase 
Each  other,  and  the  sweet  and  tender  grace 
Of  outstretched  hands,  her  gratitude  express. 
Her  baby  lies  within  the  fond  embrace 
Of  his  kind  arms :  "  Thee  may  GOD  richly  bless." 
She  murmurs :  "  Scarce  my  heart  can  bear  this  hap- 
piness." 

25- 

"  What  name  baptismal  bears  this  darling  boy  ?" 
"  Ah,  father !  many  a  sacred  duty  lay 
Forgotten,  for  our  life  was  only  joy 
And  pastime.     A  fair  group  of  maidens  gay 
Gathered  to  grace  my  baby's  christening  day ; 
But  ere  to  Treves  the  messenger  was  sent, 
The  holy  man  to  summon,  came  dismay, 
For  all  the  land  with  call  to  arms  was  rent, 
And   haste   and   terror   reigned    until    my   Siegfried 
went. 


'  — ' Kneel T    Father  Anselm  says; 
The  bright  baptismal  water  thrice  he  pours, 
Breathes  the  Most  Holy  ATa)iic,  devoutly  prays."1 


Page  55. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  55 

26. 

"  Hubert  he  is"     "  Kneel !"  Father  Anselm  says  ; 
The  bright  baptismal  water  thrice  he  pours, 
Breathes  the  Most  Holy  Name,  devoutly  prays, 
And  the  dear  infant  to  her  arms  restores. 
The  mother's  heart  in  glad  thanksgiving  soars. 
Her  lips  with  rapture  mute,  her  babe  caress; 
Anguish  and  loss  no  longer  she  deplores, 
She  feels  the  Hand,  omnipotent  to  bless, 
Guiding  her  back  to  light  through   depths  of  dark 
distress. 

27. 

"  Come  with  me,  daughter !"     In  his  arms  he  folds 
The  little  Hubert,  lifts  the  leafy  door, 
The  mossy  carpet  treads,  then  strongly  holds 
The  mother's  hand,  for  now  the  rocky  floor 
Sharply  ascends,  and  sunbeams  play  no  more 
Beneath  their  feet :  a  chamber  vast  and  high 
Extends  around,  and  far  above  them  pour 
Through  one  small  rent,  rays  from  the  upper  sky ; 
Beneath,  charred  root  and  bough  and  gathered  ashes 
lie. 


5 6  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

28. 

"  Here,"  Father  Anselm  said,  "  in  winter  nights 
I  make,  with  ample  fires,  a  second  day, 
Yet  neither  curling  smoke  nor  wandering  lights 
On  trunk  or  bough  my  shelter  can  betray, 
Though  the  red  glow  on  wall  and  roof-tree  play. 
My  corn  and  oaten  food  I  then  prepare, 
Set  forth  my  little  lonely  board's  array, — 
The  carven  dish  of  wood,  the  frugal  fare, — 
This  service,  thou,  dear  child,  henceforth  wilt  make 

thy  care." 

29. 

Now  to  the  left  they  turn  and  downward  wend, 
And  see  far  off  the  distant  daylight  shine 
Through  the  low  arch  toward  which  their  feet  de- 
scend 

Along  the  gradual  rocky  floor's  incline. 
Beside  the  entrance  feathery  boughs  of  pine 
And  spruce,  for  Father  Anselm's  couch,  are  laid, 
Curtained  by  climbing  rose  and  drooping  vine 
And  by  the  sheltering  pine-tree's  fragrant  shade. 
"  Is  not  our  rock-built  home  both  strong  and  fair  ?" 
he  said. 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRAS  ANT.  57 

30. 

He  leads  her  forth.     A  labyrinth  of  pines, 
Mingled  with  fir  and  chestnut,  clothe  the  hill 
On  this  its  southern  slope.     Above,  the  vines 
Climb  high,  their  globes  of  amethyst  to  fill 
In  upper  sunshine,  while  below,  the  rill 
A  rocky  basin  for  itself  has  made, 
And,  from  this  clear  source,  wandering  at  will, 
Circles  the  hill  and  gains  the  grassy  glade, 
And  there  is  lost  to  sight  beneath  the  forest  shade. 

31- 

Beside  the  close-knit  pines  the  oaten  field 
Begins  its  lovely  waving  gold  to  show, 
The  wheat  its  graceful,  braided  spears  to  yield, 
And   the  young,  tender  vines,   pruned   close  and 

low, 

Ripen  their  vintage,  and  in  serried  row 
The  humble  bean-flowers  shed  their  light  perfume. 
All  wholesome  herbs,  all  healing  plants  that  grow, 
Upon  the  hill-side's  gentle  slope  find  room, 
And    sun    and    virgin    soil    perfect    their    generous 

bloom. 


5 8  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

32. 

Above  the  cavern's  arch  a  way  extends 
Through  the  pine  thicket  to  the  hill's  steep  brow, 
Where  Father  Anselm  oft  his  footstep  bends. 
He  made  the  path  when  first  his  hermit  vow 
Had  led  him  here.     He  treads  it  still,  though  now 
Fast,  vigil,  lonely  toil  for  many  a  year 
Unnerve  his  limbs,  his  manly  stature  bow. 
Weary  to-day,  he  says,  "  My  daughter  dear, 
Ascend !       With    Hubert    and    our    doe     I     linger 
here." 

33- 

The  rocky  brow  of  the  long  southern  slope 
She  climbs.     A  glorious  vision  meets  her  eye : 
The  far  horizon  and  the  ample  cope, 
For  days  unseen,  of  blue  and  boundless  sky, 
The  wide,  wide  forest,  the  grand  hills  that  lie 
Beyond,  and  guard  it  with  their  rampart  green, 
While  through  their  gorges,  farther  still  and  high, 
The  purple  ranges  of  the  Vosges  are  seen, 
And  gleams   the  bright   Moselle,  winding  in   sunny 
sheen. 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRAS  A  NT. 


59 


34- 

Silent,  o'er  the  vast  solitude  she  gazed. 
The  beautiful,  majestic  hills  alone 
At  first  possessed  her  soul.     As  one  amazed, 
Who,  dreaming  sweetly,  wakes  to  pain,  her  own 
Suffering  and  loss  now  make  their  sharpness  known, 
To  rescue  her  boy's  life  at  every  cost 
Had  been  her  care.     Courage  and  hope  had  grown 
By  self-forgetfulness.     Now  wildly  tossed 
With  dread,  she  fears  lest  more  than   life  itself  is 
lost. 

35- 

"  How  can  I  e'er  forget !     When  June  was  young 
My  garden-walks  with  dewy  grass  were  sweet, 
And  in  my  bower  the  summer  roses  flung 
Their  wealth  of  glowing  petals  at  my  feet. 
My  lonely  heart  in  anxious  sadness  beat, 
But  Home's  strong  sanctuary  still  was  mine, 
And  duly  Hope  each  wakening  morn  would  greet 
With  promise  that  a  cloudless  sun  should  shine 
On  happier  hours.     The  tempest  rose  and  swept  me 
from  the  shrine. 


60  CENEVIEVE  OF  BRABANT. 

36. 

"  Oh,  that  the  perfect  peace,"  she  sighs  at  length, 
"  Of  this  fair  forest  world  might  fill  my  heart ! 
Ye  steadfast  mountains,  pour  your  tranquil  strength 
Into  my  soul,  that  I  .no  more  may  start 
When  through  me  lightning  shafts  of  anguish  dart, 
When  thunders  roll  may  stand  unmoved,  like  you  ! 
Might  I  but  know  where  thou,  my  Siegfried,  art ! 
Might  know  thee  still  unharmed,  still  fond  and  true! 
I  could  be  strong  and  calm  if  only  this  I  knew." 

37- 
Down  through  the  solemn  pines  she  wends    her 

way 

Till  the  close,  fragrant  ranks  of  vine-clad  trees 
Open  once  more  a  vista  to  the  day. 
Gazing  below  a  lovelier  sight  she  sees, 
Her  boy  at  play  on  Father  Anselm's  knees 
Strokes  his  white  beard  and  reverend  face :  beside 
Her  master  lies  the  silver  doe  at  ease, 
To  each  dear  friend  by  double  fondness  tied, 
With  love  full  near  to  human  tenderness  allied. 


GENEVIEVE  OF  BRABANT.  6  1 


She  hastes  to  join  them.     "  Father,  is  it  far 
I've  brought  my  boy  from  our  once  happy  home  ?" 
"  Know'st  thou  where  bright  Moselle  and  silver  Sarre 
Unite  near  Siegfried's  towers  ?      Thence  didst  thou 

come 

Six  toilsome  leagues  :  —  the  road  thy  feet  did  roam 
Leads  northward  through  thy  lord's  domain,  and  when 
I  climb  yon  steep,  the  dim,  faint  spires  and  dome 
Of  Treves,  the  holy  city,  meet  my  ken  :  — 
This  vast  and  ancient  wood  the  forest  of  Ardennes." 

39- 

"  'Tis  joy  to  think  that  still  I  tread  the  soil 
Ruled  by  my  Siegfried.     But  do  men  no  more 
Visit  this  forest  ?     Is  thy  lonely  toil 
The  only  means  by  which  thou  fill'st  thy  store?  — 
If  only  here  some  way-worn  wanderer  bore 
Tidings  of  those  afar,  who  fight,  —  or  die  !  — 
The  saddest  news  perchance  might  seem  less  sore 
Than  dread  suspense.     Ah  !  father,  tell  me  why, 
And  what  this   horror?    this  swift,  sudden  darkness 
o'er  our  sky  ? 


62  GENEVIEVE  OF  BRABANT. 

40. 

"  I  should  have  seen  the  threatening  cloud  draw  near. 
My  baby's  nurse,  kind,  innocent,  and  gay, 
Was  banished ;  then  my  Brabant  handmaid  dear 
Was  summoned  to  her  home ;  so  did  they  say. 
I  watched  their  lowering  looks  from  day  to  day, 
Yet  feared  not.     Harsh  discourtesy  seemed  brief 
And  low  annoyance.     Siegfried's  long  delay 
And  silence  were  my  keen  and  bitter  grief. 
Now  tidings  come  no  more.     God  grant  my  aching 
heart  relief!" 

41. 

"  Thou  shalt  have  tidings.     Ere  the  summer  moon 
Renews  her  orb,  each  month  to  Treves  I  go. 
Long  is  the  way  and  I  must  tread  it  soon ; 
But  ere  I  leave  thee,  daughter,  thou  must  grow 
In  household  skill,  whence  the  poor  comforts  flow 
Even  of  this  cavern  home.     At  Treves  my  store 
I  still  replenish,  and  the  fathers  know, 
At  the  old  convent,  all  the  great  world's  lore : 
My  dear  and  faithful  friends  are  they  from  days  of 
yore. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  63 

42. 

"  My  holy  poor  I  visit,  and  receive 
The  Blessed  Sacrament,  and  thrice  I  pray 
In  the  great  Church,  and  then  the  convent  leave, 
Gather  my  slender  stores  and  take  my  way ; 
But  first  all  news  of  battle  or  of  fray, 
Or  valiant  deeds  from  the  good  monks  I  learn ; 
Then  through  the  busy  market-place  I  stray, 
And  hear  the  crowd's  light  tattle.     Then  I  turn 
Homeward,  before  the  moon   refills  with   light   her 


43- 

"  That  time  I  choose  lest  wayfarers  should  meet 
Or  join  me  on  my  journey.     Heretofore 
I  shunned  them,  for  my  solitude  was  sweet, 
But  for  thy  sake,  my  daughter,  all  the  more 
Its  least  invasion  now  should  I  deplore ; 
Yet  in  my  absence  thou  hast  naught  to  fear; 
Our  forester  is  old,  he  walks  no  more 
The  wood,  but  still  his  eye  is  keen  and  clear 
And  watchful,  and  his  hut  our  forest  entrance  near. 


64  GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT, 

44. 

"  And  well  he  guards  it.     My  delicious  home, 
My  peaceful  hermitage  for  many  a  year 
Have  been  this  cave  and  hill.     No  wanderers  come 
Treading  our  tangled  path,  or  thou  mightst  fear. 
Deep  is  the  solitude,  the  timid  deer 
From  copse  and  glade  troop  fearless  to  our  spring, 
Rippling  its  fresh  depths  in  the  moonlight  clear, 
And  myriad  birds  with  morning  light  take  wing 
From  out  these  bowery  vines.    The  woods  with  music 
ring. 

45- 

"  Yet,  thou  ! — when  I  bethink  me,  thou  didst  pass 
Up  our  steep  winding  way,  my  Genevieve. 
E'en  in  the  night,  though  light  upon  the  grass 
Thy  footstep  fell,  yet  could  I  scarce  believe 
That  aught  our  watchful  guardian  could  deceive. 
To  leave  thee  with  this  doubt  would  be  despair." 
"  Father,  with  me  in  Brabant  thou  didst  leave 
Thy  hooded  gown ;  I  kept  it  with  fond  care. 
It    clothed    us    that    sad    night,  and  hid  my  flowing 
hair. 


"The  timid  deer 

from  copse  and  glade  troop  fearless  to  our  spring, 
Kippling  its  fresh  depths  in  the  moonlight  clear.1' 


Page  64. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  65 

46. 

"  Around  us  both  it  fell,  a  blessed  screen 
From  evil  eyes,  and  saved  us  on  our  way ; 
And  I  am  tall ;  there  was  no  moon ;  and  e'en 
If  our  dread  journey  had  been  made  by  day, 
Scarce  aught  could  to  that  guardian's  eye  betray, 
Beneath  the  long,  dark  gown  and  ample  hood, 
A  wretched  mother.     '  Surely,'  he  would  say, 
'  The  father  hath'  been  forth  on  errand  good, 
And,  ere  the  moon  arise,  hastes  homeward  to  the 
wood.' " 


47- 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  my  daughter !  all  is  clear  again  ; 
And  I  will  go  to  Treves,  and  bring  to  thee 
Whatever  tidings  'mid  the  haunts  of  men 
I  gain  of  him  thou  fondly  long'st  to  see. 
GOD  send  all  good  and  gracious  news  by  me  \ 
Then  light  and  glad  my  feet  will  hither  roam. 
But  keep  thy  soul  from  all  repining  free; 
Lift  up  thy  heart !  believe  he  yet  will  come, 
And  take  thee  to  his  arms,  his  fervent  heart,  his  home. 


66  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

48. 

"  This  dainty  gown  and  kirtle  that  enclose 
Thy  form  in  clear,  pale  olive  tints,  thy  face 
Befit,  as  does  the  calyx  of  the  rose 
Befit  her,  and  in  pure  harmonious  grace 
Blend  with  the  forest  hues.     Ere  long  no  trace 
Of  beauty  sun  and  dew  to  them  will  leave ; 
But  stores  of  flax  and  wool  shall  soon  replace 
Them  both ;  for  thou  must  sew  and  spin  and  weave,- 
And  toil ,  the  blessed  friend  of  all  who  grieve, 
Will  touch,  with  healing  hand,  thy  heart,  my  Gene- 

vieve. 

49- 

"And  now  our  noonday  meal  we  must  partake, 
Then  I,  with  midnight  wandering  weary,  rest." 
Wild  honey  stored  in  gourds  and  oaten  cake 
He  brought.     The  simple,  wholesome  food  he  blest 
With  upraised  hand,  and  hunger  gave  it  zest. 
"  Now  will  I  lead  thee  on  thy  homeward  way, 
But  come  again  when  the  sun  seeks  the  west: 
At  twilight  I  the  holy  office  say, 
And  from  thy  childhood  thou  wast  wont  with  me  to 

pray." 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  67 

50. 

They  tread  the  gradual,  long,  ascending  way, 
And,  turning,  gain  the  chamber  vast  and  high 
Lighted  by  that  one  gleam  of  upper  day  ;  — 
A  shaft  of  radiance  now  from  noontide  sky:  — 
The  sharp  descent  they  reach  ;  below  them  lie 
The  moss-spread  couch  and  carpet  as  before. 
His  ancient  gown  delights  the  father's  eye, 
And,  in  its  hood,  the  little  dainty  store 
Of   garments   for    her    babe   that   the   dear   mother 
bore. 


Then  the  clear  sound  of  lightly  ringing  feet 
Along  the  rocky  floor  above  them  rose, 
As  the  doe's  footstep,  delicate  and  fleet, 
Pursues  them,  and  her  gleaming  outline  shows 
Treading  the  sharp  descent.     In  sweet  repose, 
Upon  his  mossy  couch,  the  father  lays 
The  little  sleeping  Hubert  down,  and  goes;  — 
But  first,  with  kind  farewell,  again  he  says, 
"  At  sunset,  daughter,  come  to  join  my  prayer  and 
praise." 


68  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

52. 

As  day  declines  she  seeks  the  southern  slope. 
"  Peace  to  thee,  daughter !"  the  dear  father  saith. 
And  peace  descends  upon  her  heart,  and  hope 
Revives,  as,  kneeling  in  the  act  of  faith, 
Visions  of  love  triumphant  over  death 
Hover  around  her.     Naught  shall  e'er  destroy 
Her  perfect  trust ;  and  with  her  latest  breath 
Blessings  on  Siegfried  shall  her  tongue  employ. 
Then  peace  and  trust  and  hope  are  merged  in  holy 
joy 

53- 

Their  vespers  o'er,  the  father  from  the  spring 
Draws  the  pure  water,  and  light  pine-twigs  breaks, 
That  Genevieve  within  the  cave  may  bring; 
From  these  at  first  the  flickering  flame  he  wakes, 
Of  branch  and  bough  the  ampler  fire  he  makes : 
The  blaze  soars  upward.     From  the  rocky  bin, 
His  granary,  the  light,  flat  stone  he  takes 
That  guards  the  precious  oaten  store  within, 
Then  bakes  the  wholesome  bread,  firm,  delicate,  and 
thin. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  69 

54- 

The  little  Hubert,  in  the  ancient  gown 
Securely  wrapt,  enchanted  with  the  blaze, 
Laughs  from  the  floor;  beside  him,  couching  down, 
His  faithful  doe  her  guardian  presence  lays ; 
While  Father  Anselm  all  the  forest  ways 
Of  thrift  and  life-sustaining  skill  unfolds ; — 
His  store  of  salt,  his  honey  gourds,  his  maize 
In  earthen  jars,  each  little  sack  that  holds 
Its  healing  herb,  and  sweet  grapes  pressed  in  vine- 
leaf  moulds. 

55- 

And  then  his  wondrous  calendar  of  days, 
Through  the  long  years  maintained,  with  pride  he 

shows : 

Each  holy  festival  its  page  displays, 
Days  of  heroic  deeds  its  record  shows, 
And  days  to  his  own  memory  dear,  and  those 
Marked  by  some  natural  epoch  as  they  passed. 
"  Now  draws  our  long,  bright  summer  to  its  close" 
He  sighs;  "this  happy  month  is  waning  fast, 
Two  days  remain.     To  Treves  I  journey  on  the  last." 


70  GENE 'VIE 'VE   OF  BRABANT. 

56. 

"  And  wilt  thou  keep  this  calendar  of  days 
While  I  am  gone  from  thee  ?     And  brief  and  clear 
Record  whatever  in  the  woodland  ways 
Awakes  thy  wonder  or  thy  joy  or  fear?" 
"  Let  me  begin  to-morrow,  father  dear ! 
A  year  to-morrow ! — oh,  that  day  of  joy  ! — 
The  day  that  gave  my  small  Count  Hubert  here 
To  mine  and  to  his  father's  arms ! — the  boy 
For    whom     our    hopes    foretold    gladness    without 
alloy. 

57- 

"Ah,  well,  my  darling!  lovely  forest  flowers 
I'll  weave,  and  crown  thy  little  brow  of  snow, 
And  merry  make  thy  birthday's  passing  hours ; 
No  loss  of  mirth  or  sweetness  shalt  thou  know  ; 
With  flowers  I'll  garland  too  the  lovely  doe 
For  thy  small  festival.     At  set  of  sun 
To  the  hill's  brow,  dear  father,  will  we  go, 
And    show    him    where    Moselle's    bright   waters 

run 
Beside  his  home,  before  our  hour  of  orison." 


GENEVIEVE  OF  BRABANT.  71 

58. 

And  thus  the  infant  heir  of  high  estate 
And  fair  renown — hid  in  the  ancient  wood — 
Holds  his  first  festival.     A  happier  fate 
He  would  not  ask.     All  radiant,  sweet,  and  good 
To  him  his  forest  life : — soft  eyes  that  brood 
Unceasing  o'er  him  in  pure,  silent  love 
And  tender  ministry,  delicious  food, 
His  mother's  voice,  like  note  of  woodland  dove, 
Breathing    low   music,   and    green,   waving    boughs 
above. 

59- 

With  fragrant  wreaths  of  vine  and  woodbine  shed 
O'er  him  and  o'er  his  doe,  the  boy  they  bear 
Up  through  the  pine-clad  way,  his  arms  outspread 
In  loving  rapture,  all  things  are  so  fair! — 
This  his  domain ! — but  he  shall  be  the  heir 
Of  nobler  heritage ; — learn  in  the  grand 
Old  wood  to  know  the  secret  Power  and  Care 
Evolving  beauty ;  feel  the  Secret  Hand 
Lead  him ;   and  list  the  Secret  Voice  of  Sweet  Su- 
preme Command. 


72  GENE  VIE  VE  OF  BRABANT. 

60. 

"  Before  the  dawn  on  yonder  mountains  glow 
I  shall  be  gone ;  but  thou  hast  naught  to  dread. 
Yet  stray  not  from  this  slope,  the  spring  below, 
The  cave,  and  grassy  glade.     How  grandly  spread 
The  hills  around  us !     Ere  farewell  is  said 
Sing  to  me,  daughter !"     "  Father,  we  were  young 
When  thou,  while  our  sweet  days  in  Brabant  sped, 
Didst  teach  us  the  '  Laudate'  in  our  tongue." 
"  Praise  HIM  on  earth,  all  hills  and  mountains!"  then 
she  sung. 

Do  ye  not  praise  Him  ?  with  your  verdant  crests 
Uplifted  to  the  brightness  of  His  heaven, 

Whereon  the  sunshine  like  His  blessing  rests, 
The  flush  of  morn  and  purple  glow  of  even  ? 

Do  ye  not  praise  Him  when  the  twilight  pours 
Its  tender,  dewy  stillness  on  your  heads  ? 

When  the  clear  moon  through  midnight's  silent  hours 
Her  flood  of  silver  glory  o'er  you  sheds  ? 

Do  ye  not  praise  Him  when  ye  wreathe  and  shroud 
With  mist  and  darkness  all  your  awful  forms  ? 

When  round  your  brows  ye  twine  the  thunder-cloud, 
And  echo  from  your  heights  the  voice  of  storms  ? 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  73 

But  most  of  all  to  me  ye  speak  His  praise 

In  the  soft  veil  of  beauty  o'er  you  cast 
By  the  calm  sunshine  of  these  golden  days  ; — 

Fair  summer's  loveliest  children  and  the  last.' 


A  radiant  mist  that  softens,  not  conceals, 

Invests  your  summits  with  transparent  gleam, 

O'er  verdant  slope  and  graceful  woodland  steals 
The  dim  mysterious  beauty  of  a  dream. 

Are  such  the  hills  which  in  my  FATHER'S  land 

My  raptured  eyes,  unclosed  from  death,  may  greet  ? 

Are  such  the  hills  o'er  which,  a  glittering  band, 
The  white-winged  angels  press  with  shining  feet  ? 

Yes !  but  more  lofty  and  more  fair  than  ye, 

With  softer  radiance,  caught  from  sunnier  skies. 

Types  are  ye  of  the  glory  that  shall  be 
Upon  those  gleaming  hills  of  Paradise  ! 

Thus  do  ye  praise  Him  ; — Him  whose  plastic  Hand 
Strength,  grace,  and  beauty  to  your  forms  hath  given. 

God's  glorious  altars, — in  His  world  ye  stand, 
And  waft  the  incense  of  His  praise  to  Heaven  ! 


PART    III. 


AGAIN  the  splendor  of  the  sunset  falls 

On  Siegfried's  ancient  castle,  and  again 

From  its  high  tower  the  warder's  trumpet  calls. 

Again  a  courier  band  across  the  plain, 

With    drooping   lance   and   plume,  and    slackened 

rein, 

Press,  weary,  on,  the  journey's  end  to  gain. 
Beside  them  moves,  with  stately  step  and  slow, 
A  traveller,  who  brief  shelter  would  obtain  ; 
His  silver  beard  and  hair  in  sunlight  glow, 
And  o'er  the  long,  dark  habit  of  his  order  flow. 
74 


'  Again  (he  splendor  of  the  sunset  falls 
On  Siegfried's  ancient  castle,  and  again 
From  its  high  tower  the  -warder's  trumpet  calls." 


Page  74. 


GENEVJEVE   OF  BRABANT. 


2. 


75 


At  Treves  he  saw  the  weary  escort  halt, 
Water  their  steeds,  and  take  their  way  again. 
Already  his  small  sack  is  rilled  with  salt, 
The  ample  pouches  of  his  gown  contain 
The  promised  flax  and  wool,  but  still  in  vain 
The  distaff  has  been  sought.     He  bids  farewell 
To  the  kind  fathers ;  with  the  lingering  train 
Waits  in  the  market-place,  and  hears  them  tell 
News   of   the   war,  their   lord,  and   all   things   that 
befell. 

3- 

"  Peace  be  with  you,  my  sons !"  the  father  said, 
With  courteous  dignity,  and  took  his  way 
Beside  them  on  the  lovely  road  that  led 
'Neath  leafy  arches,  and  ascending  lay 
Above  the  bright  Moselle.     Before  the  day 
He  will  return  and  seek  the  distaff.     Now 
His  aim  is  fixed  :  to  learn  what  these  may  say 
Of  Siegfried ;  where  their  lord  may  be,  and  how 
This  wrong  was  done.     He  sees  care  on  their  leader's 
brow. 


76 


GENE 'VIE VE   OF  BRABANT. 


4- 

"  Is  thy  lord  well? — the  great  Count  Palatine? 
Battle  has  brought  to  him,  I  trust,  no  harms, 
No  grievous  wounds  ?     Afar  the  splendors  shine 
Of  his  grand  prowess  and  his  skill  in  arms  ; 
His  knightly  valor  shields  from  all  alarms 
These  peaceful  plains."    "  Yes,  father,  he  can  guard 
His  land  with  prowess,  but  vile  wizard  charms 
Have  wrought  him  woe,  with  thrust  more  deadly 

hard 
Than  Paynim  sword  ;  for  knightly  valor  foul  reward. 

5- 

"  When  from  the  siege  of  Avignon  he  turned, 
Unwounded,  but  his  heart  with  sorrow  bent, 
Because  for  tidings  of  his  home  he  yearned, 
While  the  swift  couriers  to  his  fair  dame  went 
With  letters,  none  from  her  to  him  were  sent. 
'Twas  then,  when  weary  and  despairing,  came 
Hugo's  ill  tidings,  that  with  anguish  rent 
His  soul,  and  bowed  his  head  in  bitter  shame, 
And  all  his  being  rilled  with  fury,  as  a  flame. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  77 

6. 

"  And  she  must  die  !     Perchance  is  dead  ere  now! 

Rolf  was  his  messenger ;  no  deadly  blow 

Would  he  withhold.     He  heard  Count  Siegfried's 

vow 

That  she  no  more  should  life  and  freedom  know; — 
The  traitress  whom  he  called  his  deadliest  foe. 
But,  with  the  dread  belief  that  she  is  slain, 
Keener  his  anguish ;  farther  must  he  go 
From  this  his  home,  in  danger  drown  his  pain, 
And  o'er  the  mountains  now  he  hounds  the  Moors  to 

Spain." 

7- 

"  Ah  !  she  was  pure,  was  saint-like ;  evil  men 
Traduced  her.     I  the  lovely  lady  knew. 
When  thou  returnest  to  thy  lord  again, 
If  his  mood  change,  tell  him  that  fond  and  true 
She  was  to  him.     More  deeply  he  may  rue 
His  bitter  loss,  but  it  will  calm  his  soul 
To  know  that  she  was  stainless  as  the  dew 
And  his  in  every  thought.     The  mists  will  roll 
Away,  and  secret  crime  will  find  its  fitting  goal." 


7 8  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

8. 

"  To  thee,  then,  reverend  father,  I  confide 
That  more  than  one  grave  errand  brings  me  here. 
Henceforth,  within  Count  Siegfried's  home  abide 
No  more  its  recent  guardians.     He  doth  fear 
That  they  his  word  transcended.     To  his  side 
Never  will  Rolf  be  summoned,  from  his  hall 
Hugo  is  banished.     Habit  had  allied 
His  life  to  theirs,  not  love.     Now  they  recall 
His  anguish,  and  yet  more,  he  doth  distrust  them  all. 

9- 

"  He  gives  Elfrida  means  afar  to  make 

Her   home.     Her  sons  must  seek  the   field.     No 

more 

Hither  he  comes,  nor  needs  for  his  own  sake 
Their  service ;  and  deserted  as  of  yore 
Will  be  the  castle ;  as  in  days  before 
Count  Siegfried  came,  save  that  he  still  maintains 
The  grand  old  gardens  which  he  did  restore, 
And  still  the  ancient  Brabant  maid  retains, — 
For  him  a  life  of  lonely  wandering  remains." 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  f 

10. 

Now,  as  they  reach  the  castle,  "  Wilt  thou  bear," 
The  father  said,  "  a  message  to  thy  lord  ? 
Somewhat  of  his  I  have  within  my  care, 
And  I  would  send  to  him  a  written  word 
To  pledge  its  safety ;  but,  upon  thy  sword, 
Vow  thou  wilt  guard  and  give  it  him !"    The  oath 
Is  frankly  made.     They  enter :  at  the  board 
Beside  the  guard-room's  fire  now  seated  both, 
The  father  clearly  writes  on  tempered  linen  cloth. 


II. 

"  Siegfried,  Count  Palatine. — The  Lily  flower 
Transplanted  from  the  forest-girdled  shore, 
And  brought  by  thee  to  brighten  thine  own  bower, 
Uprooted  by  the  storm,  blooms  there  no  more. 
But  still  it  lives,  and,  starlike,  as  of  yore, 
Unfolds  its  petals  in  serener  air. 
Return  to  Treves  !     At  the  old  convent  door 
Ask  for  one  known  as  'Brother  Ansehrf  there. 
He  guards   thy  stainless  Lily,  pure,  and  sweet,  and 
fair" 


8o  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRAS  ANT. 

12. 

In  flax  and  wool  he  bound  the  scroll ;  and  said 
Farewell  with  blessing,  as  he  took  his  way : — 
When  by  the  sound  of  steeds  and  footsteps  led, 
Lo !  at  the  door  appeared  the  matron  gray. 
The  father's  kindly  eye  shot  forth  a  ray 
Of  horror,  as  she  said,  with  treacherous  smile 
And  accent  smooth,  "  Good  father,  rest,  I  pray, 
For,  doubtless,  thou  hast  journeyed  many  a  mile 
Beneath  our  castle's  roof  abide  a  little  while." 


13- 

"  I  must  depart.     Too  long  this  brief  delay ; 
The  scant  remaining  daylight  I  would  save." 
"What  shall  we  give  thee,  then,  good  father?  say!" 
"  Naught  of  the  castle's  bounty  do  I  crave  ; — 
Naught  for  myself,  but  for  my  poor  I  have 
Sore  needs ;  for  those  who  better  days  have  known. 
A  distaff  yet  one  precious  life  might  save." 
"  Ah  !  thou  shalt  have  our  evil  lady's  own  ! 
And  round   it  I   will   bind  her  strong,  warm  winter 
gown." 


GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT.  8 1 

14. 

"  Thy  lady !  where  is  she  ?"     "  The  bird  has  flown  ; 
Fled  with  her  nestling,  to  a  land  so  far 
That  ne'er  will  she  return  to  claim  her  own. 
She  feared  the  Count's  just  anger,  from  the  war 
Returning,  and  betook  her  to  the  Sarre. 
Her  silken  cloak  of  clear  pale-olive  hue, 
Caught  by  the  tide  upon  a  rocky  bar, 
We  sent  her  lord,  in  token  that  we  knew 
Her  dead.     'Twas  in  that  robe  and  cloak  she  slipped 
the  postern  through. 

15- 

"  They  who  survive  have  better  right  than  she 
Within  these  towers.     And  for  the  Count,  her  lord, 
He  will  outlive  his  pain,  and  yet  will  see 
Right  merry  days ;  so  he  the  Moorish  sword 
Escape."     The  low,  cold,  jesting  word 
Spoken,  she  turned  away,  and  sought  and  gave 
The  lady's  distaff,  and  the  garments  stored 
For  further  use.     "  A  prayer,  at  times,  I'd  crave, 
Father!    unless   perchance  this  deed   my  soul    may 
save." 

6 


82  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

1 6. 

The  flippant,  heartless  phrase,  the  smooth,  false  tone, 
Sent  deep  abhorrence  as  a  shuddering  wave 
O'er  him.     "  Gifts  are  bestowed  by  those  alone 
Who  own  them.     Of  thy  lady  would  I  crave 
Freely  this  bounty.     If  in  watery  grave, 
As  thou  hast  told  me,  her  dear  body  lies, 
Of  her  sweet  soul  I  ask  it.     From  thee,  save 
Due  reverence  to  the  dead  in  Paradise, 
Naught   ask    I."       Righteous    wrath    flamed   in    his 
sweet  dark  eyes. 

17- 

Then  to  the  escort,  with  kind,  courteous  tone, 
And  to  their  leader,  turned  the  holy  man. 
"Adieu,  once  more,"  he  said.     "  I  must  begone." 
His  staff  and  burden  took,  and  straight  began 
His  journey,  while  his  eye  in  wonder  ran 
O'er  the  vast  rampart  and  the  lordly  towers, 
In  his  deep  heart  revolving  many  a  plan 
For  leading  back  to  home  and  happier  hours 
The  wronged    ones    o'er  whose    lives    this  cloud    of 
misery  lowers. 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT.  83 

18. 

Now  as  he  nears  the  forest,  all  his  mind 

Stirs  with  unwonted  care,  unwonted  joy. 

The  sweetness  of  the  home  he  left  behind, 

Fears  for  its  new-found  treasures  still  employ 

By    turns    his    thought.     "  If  aught   should   bring 

annoy 

To  the  dear  guests  while  he  is  far  away ! — 
May  Heaven  protect  the  lady  and  her  boy !" 
He  gains  the  wood-path  ere  the  morning  gray, 
And,  as  he  treads  it  still,  dawn  grows  to  golden  day. 

19. 

"  This  was  the  morn  he  promised  to  return," 
Says  the  dear  mother,  with  expectance  sweet, 
Of  Father  Anselm,  and  with  thoughts  that  yearn 
For  his  kind  presence.     Tottering  baby  feet 
She  tries  to-day,  in  small  advance,  retreat, 
And  steps  uncertain,  guided  by  her  hands ; 
Then  o'er  the  grass,  her  outstretched  arms  to  meet, 
Making  their  short,  swift  flight.    But  now  she  stands 
Listening;   then  all  her  heart  with  grateful  joy  ex- 
pands, 


84  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

20. 

As,  gleaming  in  the  sun,  the  silver  hair 
And  the  pure,  gracious  countenance  appear, 
And  the  tall,  stately  form  and  features  fair, 
Serene  and  sweet  in  reverend  age,  draw  near. 
How  bright  the  forest  seems  now  he  is  here, 
Whose  feet  upon  her  service  forth  did  roam, — 
The  guardian  to  her  heart  from  childhood  dear ! 
"  Welcome,  my  father !     Welcome  to  your  home  ! 
See,  Hubert  and  your  doe  with  fond  caresses  come !" 

21. 

High  o'er  his  head  he  lifts  the  lovely  boy 
In  strong,  kind  arms ;  fondles  the  gentle  doe  : 
"  Ah  !  my  dear  daughter,  none  the  perfect  joy 
Of  this  warm,  tender  welcome  home  can  know 
Save  those  whose  lives  have  felt  the  cheerless  flow 
Of  years  unblessed  by  human  love ;  for  even 
Though  precious  was  my  solitude,  yet  slow 
Moved  the  still  hours.     Thank  God  that  He  has 

given 

Pure,  sweet  companionship  on  earth  before  He  gives 
His  Heaven ! 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  85 

22. 

"  But  news  from  Treves  and  from  thy  home  I  bring. 
For,  farther  than  my  wont,  full  many  a  mile 
I've  journeyed.     Gray  Elfrida,  flattering 
'With  smooth,  false  tongue  and  nature  steeped   in 

guile, 

I've  seen,  and  fathomed  every  dangerous  wile. 
I  joined  a  courier  band  sent  by  thy  lord. 
Siegfried  is  safe,  unharmed  !"     A  radiant  smile, 
Then  the  swift  rush  of  sobs  arrests  his  word. 
Still,  as  she  strove  to  speak,  tears  o'er  the  pale  cheeks 

poured. 

23- 

"  And  where,  my  father?"     "  Far  away,  in  Spain. 
From  the  dread  siege  of  Avignon  he  turned 
Unwounded,  but  his  heart,  in  bitter  pain, 
Howe'er  for  home  and  thee,  dear  child,  it  yearned, 
Goaded  by  falsehood,  each  fond  instinct  spurned, 
Until  the  wrath  by  hate  and  malice  fed, 
A  fierce,  consuming  flame  within  him  burned. 
From  his  own  messenger  I  learned  he  sped 
Across  the  mountains,  and  the  chase  of  routed  Pay- 

nims  led. 


86  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

24. 

"  In  guarded  speech,  yet  clearly,  I  unmasked 
Then  to  the  messenger  the  secret  hand 
Of  treachery.     A  scroll  I  wrote,  and  asked 
That  loyal  leader  of  the  courier  band 
To  bear  it  with  him  to  whatever  land 
His  lord  may  wander ;  and  his  solemn  word 
Of  oath  exacted,  that,  as  high  command 
He  my  behest  would  hold, — sworn  on  his  sword. 
These  eyes  will   see  Count  Siegfried  to  your  arms 
restored. 

25. 

"  They  told  him  you  were  dead,  and  then  they  sent 
Your  silken  cloak  that  on  a  rocky  bar 
They  said  was  found,  the  very  night  you  went 
Forth  from  the  postern,  in  the  rapid  Sarre. 
This  was  the  pang  that  drove  your  Siegfried  far 
From  home  and  love.     In  horror  and  amaze 
Had  he  been  led  to  curse  his  life's  sweet  star; 
But  its  swift  setting  darkened  all  his  days. 
My  scroll  will  guide  him  back  to  its  clear  shining 
rays. 


GENE  VIE  VE  OF  BRABANT.  87 

26. 

"  Did  you,  my  daughter,  wear  the  silken  cloak 
Of  clear,  pale  olive  hue  on  that  dread  night 
When    from    their    murderous    hands    you    swiftly 

broke, 

And  saved  your  infant's  life  and  yours  by  flight  ?" 
"  No,  father.    Knowest  thou  not  we  were  bedight — 
Hubert  and  I — in  thy  dark,  hooded  gown  ? 
The  silken  cloak  I  left  in  haste  and  fright 
Where,  on  my  couch,  that  eve  I  laid  it  down. 
Now  to  clear  shape  is  treacherous  falsehood  grown." 

27. 

"  Yes,  daughter;  it  is  fitting  thou  shouldst  know 
The  structure  that  Elfrida's  hopes  had  framed. 
Ignoble  is  her  life,  her  nature  low, 
But  she  at  power  and  high  estate  had  aimed, 
And  by  left-handed,  unblest  union  claimed 
The  elder  brother  of  Count  Siegfried's  sire 
As  hers  in  secret  spousals.     While  she  tamed 
Her  servile  tongue,  she  nursed  a  smouldering  fire 
Of  low    expectancy,  toward    which    her  base,  mean 
plans  conspire. 


88  GENE  VIE  VE-  OF  BRABANT. 

28. 

"  But  while  she   schemed  and    plotted    the  Count 

died, 

And  the  young  orphaned  Siegfried  was  his  heir. 
Then  foiled  ambition,  envy,  hate,  and  pride 
Raged  in  her  heart,  yet  still  the  glozing  air 
Of  courteous  meekness  tongue  and  features  wear. 
Failing  to  bring  her  sons  to  high  estate, 
To  mould  their  fortunes  now  became  her  care. 
From  far  she  came  to  Siegfried's  castle  gate, 
And  sued  for  refuge  as  a  traveller  wandering  late. 

29. 

"  A  lowly  guest  at  first ;  the  matron  then 

Of  the  great  castle  ;  every  year  her  sway 

Grew  firmer.     Her  bold  sons,  ere  grown  to  men, 

Older  than  Siegfried,  comrades  of  his  play. 

And  when,  in  boyhood  still,  he  rode  away 

To  distant  war,  Hugo  his  seneschal 

He  made.     As  servitor,  with  short  delay, 

The    strong   young  Rolf  he  summoned    from    his 

hall. 
Thus  did  he  in  his  home  this  dragon's  brood  install. 


GENEV1EVE   OF  BRABANT,  89 

30. 

"  Naught  knew  he  of  their  story,  for  afar 
Beneath  a  tender  mother's  eye  had  passed 
His  childhood's  years.     This  castle  by  the  Sarre, 
Long  since  her  death  became  his  own  at  last, 
And  soon  Elfrida  made  her  tenure  fast. 
Then  did  thy  coming  circumscribe  her  sway, 
Defeat  her  sordid  schemes.     She  saw  aghast 
Her  fabric  fall.     But  Bertram's  wound  her  way 
Made  clear.     From  sordid  schemes  sprung  crime  in 
full  array. 


31- 

"  Thou  and  thy  boy  the  sacrifice  should  be. 
On  thy  dear  lord's  swift  wrath  they  counted  well. 
Easy  to  them  to  feign  thy  death,  if  he 
Should  not  ordain  it ;  e'en  as  it  befell. 
Now  they  believe  that  he  no  more  will  dwell 
In  his  own  home,  but  rashly  cast  away 
His  life  in  battle.     Yet  what  evil  spell 
Shall  make  his  death  her  profit,  who  can  say  ? 
Cunning  and  guile  full  oft  their  votaries  betray. 


90  GENEV1EVE   OF  BRABANT. 

32. 

"  This  tale  to  me  did  Father  Marco  tell 
At  the  old  convent,  his  mild  eyes  aflame 
With  fierce,  indignant  memories  ;  for  well 
He  knew  the  story  of  the  artful  dame, 
The  handsome,  false  Elfrida ;  much  did  blame 
The  ancient  Count,  his  peer  and  comrade  then, 
For  that  he  lowered  thus  his  grand  old  name. 
His  youth,  the  life  of  courts,  the  haunts  of  men, 
As  Father  Marco  spoke,  came  back  to  him  again." 

33- 

"  This,  then,  their  net,"  she  said,  "  where  foul  deceit 
And  treachery  and  ingratitude  entw-ine 
Their  hateful  meshes  round  my  Siegfried's  feet, 
Whose  mercy  gave  them  home  and  place ;   round 

mine, 

Who  was  to  them  a  kindly  friend;  and  thine, 
Dear  boy,  whose  innocence  might  charm 
E'en  murderous  foes.     Thus  ends  a  noble  line, 
If  an  All-Gracious,  an  Almighty  Arm    , 
Rescue  us  not  ere  long  from  secret  deadly  harm." 


GENE  VIE 'VE   OF  BRABANT.  91 

34- 

"  But  He  will  rescue.     None  e'er  ask  in  vain 
Of  Him.     He  gave  unhoped-for  means  to  send, 
Through  the  swift  courier,  to  thy  lord  in  Spain, 
My  scroll :  who,  if  he  find  him  not,  will  bend 
His  footsteps  still,  where'er  his  master's  tend. 
Wait  with  me  here  in  faith  and  patience  still 
Awhile.     If  Siegfried  come  not,  I  will  wend 
My  way  to  distant  lands  and  seek  him,  till 
Or  him  or  death  I  find,  striving  my  errand  to  fulfil." 

35- 

"  Pardon,  dear  father,  pardon !     I  will  wait 
In  patient  faith  and  hope ;  nor  yet,  with  thee, 
Can  I  be  ever  wholly  desolate. 
Deem  not,  though  great  and  keen  my  misery, 
That  I  thy  lone  departure,  thus,  for  me 
On  far  and  dangerous  quest  could  ever  see. 
Here  let  me  stay  and  learn  with  thee  to  toil, 
To  fill,  with  thee,  our  little  granary, 
To  touch  with  skilful  hand  this  fertile  soil  :— 
To  weave   this   flax  and  wool,  whose   folds   I   now 
uncoil !" 


92  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

36. 

Speaking,  from  out  the  ample  pouch  she  took, 
With  smiles  that  dawn  through  tears,  the  bounte- 
ous store 

Of  flax  and  wool ;  the  fleecy  folds  she  shook, 
Delighted  with  their  softness.     "  One  thing  more 
I  crave, — the  distaff,  father ;  for,  before 
I  left  my  youthful  Brabant  home,  to  spin 
I  learned."     "  But  the  light  burden  that  I  bore 
Contains  thy  distaff;  safely  wrapped  within 
Thine  own  warm  robe,  that  from  Elfrida  I  did  win." 

37- 

And  then  the  further  tale  is  duly  told. 
Of  that  eventful  journey,  and  the  day 
In  kindly  talk,  and  labors  manifold 
And  gentle  sylvan  pastime  wears  away. 
And  many  a  day,  and  weeks  in  long  array, 
In  the  dear  father's  calendar  find  place. 
September  sees  their  little  harvest  gay 
Of  grapes,  and  corn,  and  oats.     October's  grace 
Gives  wealth  of  chestnuts  large,  dropped  at  each  tall 
tree's  base. 


GENE VI EVE  OF  BRABANT.  93 

38. 

Then,  in  November,  from  the  wood-paths  near 
They  store  the  fallen  boughs  to  build  their  fire; 
And  now  comes  winter,  kindly,  yet  severe, 
Moulding,  with  sculptor  touch,  each  outline  clear, 
Denuding  swiftly  to  pure,  simple  form 
All  Nature's  florid  grace,  yet  holding  dear, 
And  cherishing,  and  hiding  close  and  warm 
Each  lovely  thing,  to  bloom  again  from  wreck  and 
storm. 


39- 

The  gentle  forest  creatures  round  them  come, 
Seeking  benign  companionship  and  aid, 
And  ask,  in  storms,  the  shelter  of  their  home. 
Robin  and  hare  and  kid  of  Hubert  made 
Their  playmate.     Still  the  small  encircled  glade 
Its  verdure  kept;  and  on  its  grassy  floor, 
With  them  and  his  dear  doe,  in  sunshine  played 
The  happy  boy,  imbibing  daily  more 
Of  rosy  health  and  strength  from  Nature's  wondrous 
store. 


94 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  £  RASA  NT. 


40. 

Fearless  and  agile,  strong  of  heart  and  limb, 
The  gentle  child  in  gracious  freedom  grew. 
Rejoicing  in  his  welfare,  still,  through  him, 
Light  seemed  each  hardship  the  dear  mother  knew. 
The  wool  and  flax  were  spun ;  then  swiftly  flew 
Her  shuttle ;  for  the  father's  skill  had  made 
A  dainty  loom,  and,  while  the  firelight  through 
The  cave  at  eve  its  glowing  splendor  shed, 
She  weaves  to  soft,  warm  cloth  her  firm  and  slender 
thread. 

41. 

Then  spring  returns,  another  summer  fills 
Duly  its  gentle  round  of  peaceful  days, 
While  Genevieve's  sad  heart  its  yearning  stills 
With  daily  toil,  and  daily  prayer  and  praise. 
Familiar  she  has  grown  with  woodland  ways, 
And  the  sweet  grace  of  household  skill  she  knows; 
But  her  dear  lord  his  coming  still  delays, 
And  though  to  Treves  still  Father  Anselm  goes, 
All  news,  save  news  of  Siegfried,  from  the  convent 
flows. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 


95 


42. 

But  now  from  Father  Marco's  generous  store 
Full  many  a  comfort  to  the  forest  flows : 
Fine  wheaten  cakes,  dried  figs,  and  prized  yet  more, 
Coverings  of  fur,  when  his  dear  brother  goes 
Late  in  the  season  homeward ;  "  For  who  knows," 
The  father  said,  "  if  the  cold  winter  night 
Be  not  too  bitter  for  thee  and  for  those 
Thy  poor,  whom  thou  dost  guard,  and  who  requite 
Thy  care  with  grateful  love, — thy  solace  and  delight." 


43- 

Then  first  did  Father  Anselm,  'neath  the  seal 
Of  solemn  secrecy,  to  Marco's  ear 
The  story  of  the  poor  he  guards  reveal ; 
Tell  him  that  now  'tis  past  the  second  year 
The  noble  lady  with  her  infant  dear, 
Escaped  from  murderous  hands,  have  shelter  found 
Within  his  hermit  home.     That  he  doth  fear 
His  message  failed,  sent  by  swift  courier,  bound 
To  Siegfried,  who,  forlorn,  wanders  the  world  around. 


96  GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT. 

44- 

"  And  if  another  spring  and  summer  waste," 
The  father  said,  "  and  Siegfried  is  not  here, 
A  pilgrim  to  the  Sacred  Land  I  haste, 
For  there  I  know  that  he  has  borne  his  fear, 
And  anguish,  and  despair,  when  those  so  dear 
Perished,  as  he  believed,  in  watery  grave. 
When  I  have  sown  and  reaped  another  year 
I  leave  my  tender  guests,  and  go  to  save 
The  lost  one,  if  not  yet  engulfed  in  misery's  wave. 


45- 

"  But  should  he  come  while  I  am  gone,  and  ask 
For  Brother  Anselm  at  the  convent  door, 
Thine,  reverend  father,  be  the  constant  task 
To  guard  from  dread  mistake.     I  should  deplore 
That  he  were  told  I  come  to  Treves  no  more. 
My  name  the  clue  I  gave.     Skirting  the  rim 
Of  truth,  my  words  an  air  of  mystery  wore. 
Needs  must  I  veil  this  news  in  symbols  dim, 
Lest  my  small  written  scroll  be  never  borne  to  him." 


"  Stately  as  a  king, 

Does  little  Htibert,  with  his  faithful  doc 
And  her  nnofawn  each  footstep  following, 
Tread  the  fair  woodland  wavs. ' ' 


Page  97. 


GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT.  97 

46. 

Another  summer  wanes.     Now  to  and  fro, 
Among  his  subjects,  stately  as  a  king, 
Does  little  Hubert,  with  his  faithful  doe 
And  her  new  fawn  each  footstep  following, 
Tread  the  fair  woodland  ways.     About  him  spring 
Rabbit,  and  hare,  and  kid,  where'er  he  moves ; 
And  bright,  swift  birds  oft  poise  on  hovering  wing 
Above  his  head,  and  his  own  gentle  doves 
Upon  his  shoulder  sit ;  all  living  things  he  loves. 


47- 

And  to  the  myriad  forest  growths  he  turns 
With  dawning  joy  and  wonder,  as  he  sees 
Nature's  sweet  fine  economy,  and  learns 
Her  silent  processes  of  change.     The  trees 
That  feed  the  worm  with  tender  leaves,  the  bees 
With  honeyed  blossoms,  on  the  birds  bestow 
The  nectar  of  their  fruits ;  and  when  all  these 
Are  fed,  their  ample  bounty  shower  below, 
To  give  his  little  lips  the  sweetest  feast  they  know. 
7 


98  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

48. 

The  mother's  eyes  feed  on  the  lofty  grace 
And  glorious  beauty  of  her  growing  boy, 
But  more  the  gentle  nature  that  they  trace 
In  look,  and  word,  and  action,  makes  her  joy 
And  Father  Anselm's ;  for  their  fond  employ, 
And  care,  and  pastime  centre  on  the  child. 
If  deadly  blight  his  earthly  hopes  destroy, 
From  name,  and  home,  and  heritage  exiled, 
Still  let  a  noble  life  be  his  in  forest  wild. 


49. 

The  father  teaches  him  to  know  each  tree, 
Each  herb  and  plant  upon  their  fertile  soil ; 
To  bow  the  head  and  bend  the  reverent  knee 
And  fold  the  infant  hands ;  and  moulds  his  will 
Gently  to  tasks  that  may  his  baby  skill 
Befit.     The  mother's  words,  clear,  sweet,  and  strong, 
Full  many  a  drop  of  wisdom  pure  instil, 
And  as  the  young  life-current  glides  along 
Ever  her  voice   broods    o'er   it,   sweet   in   childlike 
song. 


GENE 'VIE VE   OF  BRABANT. 

Hush  !  hush  !  hear  the  note 
Of  the  dove  through  wood-paths  float, 
Calling  thee  !     What  says  the  dove  ? 
Love !  she  says,  love  all  things !  love  ! 


Listen !  listen  !  'tis  the  bee, 
Humming  loud  and  flying  free, 
Calls  thee  now.     What  says  the  bee  ? 
Work !  for  work  is  sweet !  saith  he. 


Look  !  look  !  the  merry  hare 
Through  the  ferns  and  grasses  fair 
Light,  on  tiptoe,  frolics  gay, 
Leap  !  he  says,  and  spring  and  play  ! 


Hearken  now  !  for  on  the  wing, 
Far  above  thee,  bright  birds  sing, 
Breathing  music  from  the  cloud. 
Sing !  they  say,  sing  sweet  and  loud  ! 


Love  and  work  and  play  and  sing  ! 
Find  delight  in  everything  ! 
For  our  loving  FATHER  lives, 
And  His  joy  to  all  things  gives. 


99 


100  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

His  each  bird  that  sweetly  sings ; 
His  the  bee  on  busy  wings ; 
Merry  hares  that  lightly  leap, 
Gentle  doves  with  wood-notes  deep. 

And  He  makes  the  blossoms  fair, 
And 'the  trees,  that  high  in  air 
Waving,  all  the  summer  shed 
Their  cool  shadows  on  thy  head. 

Love  Him  !  thank  Him  !  He  is  good  ; 
Giveth  all  His  creatures  food  ; 
Guardeth  all  by  night  and  day ; 
The  DEAR  LORD  to  Whom  we  pray. 

50. 

Then  thought,  uplifted  from  the  forest  home, 
Ascends  in  song  toward  that  celestial  height 
Where  nobler  ranks  of  being  fill  the  dome 
Of  Heaven,  invisible  to  mortal  sight. 
Oft,  as  she  fondly  deems,  their  convoys  bright 
Lend  glory  to  the  aerial  paths  they  tread, 
And    her    soul    throbs,    in    hushed    and    awed    de- 
light, 

With  the  vast  pulse  around,  below,  o'erhead ; — 
The  Living  Heart  of  Love  by  which  all  Life  is  fed. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  ICH 

Beautiful  life  !  beautiful  world  ! 

GOD'S  very  presence  around  us  lies, 
Hovering  angels  with  pinions  furled 

Silently  bend  from  the  happy  skies. 

Cloud-wrought  canopies  veil  them  from  view, 

Gliding  in  companies  heavenly  fair, 
Silvery  white  on  the  sapphire  blue, 

Crimson  and  gold  on  the  sunset  air. 

Linger,  bright  visitants  !  linger  above! 

Sentinel  angels  !  to  you  it  is  given, 
Holding  your  watch  o'er  the  child  of  my  love, 

To  look  on  the  face  of  his  Father  in  Heaven. 


"  Sweetly  thy  song  was  sung,"  the  father  said, 
As  his  loved  guests  he  kindly  hovered  near. 
"  Now  the  fourth  summer  shines  on  Hubert's  head  ; 
Lightly  they  pass  ;  but  thou,  my  daughter  dear, 
Hast  known  privation,  toil,  and  hardship  here 
Too  long.     In  faith  and  patience  didst  thou  stay 
E'en  as  I  prayed  thee.     Since  the  second  year 
Closed  of  thy  forest  life,  I  fixed  the  day 
Within    my   heart  when    I   would    take    my  pilgrim 
way. 


102  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

52. 

"  When  all  our  stores  are  gathered,  can  I  best 
Hope  thou  may'st  live  without  my  presence  here ; 
With  winter,  then,  begins  my  solemn  quest. 
Then  days  are  short,  and  glowing  fires  will  cheer 
The  lonely  nights.     Tame  creatures  without  fear, 
Merry  and  kind,  will  make  the  fireside  gay 
For  Hubert;  and  in  winter  less  severe 
Thy  lonely  toil,  when  thou  art  wont  alway 
To  spin  and  weave  and  make  our  garments'  small 
array." 

53- 

The  day  drew  near, — the  kind  farewells  were  said ; 
The  father  did  the  holy  office  say, 
And  ere  with  early  morn  the  east  was  red 
Had  left  the  forest.     First  his  onward  way 
Led   him   to   Treves,    and   thence,    near   close    of 

day, 

His  path  beside  the  bright  Moselle  he  bends. 
Up  the  long  Rhine  his  farther  journey  lay, 
Across  the  wide  Bavarian  plains  extends. 
Slow  wanes  another  year  ere  his  long  travel  ends. 


PART    IV. 


i. 

MEANTIME    Count    Siegfried,    deeming     she    was 

dead, 

And  base,  though  deeply  dear,  in  bitter  pain, 
As  one  who,  frenzied,  from  his  home  has  fled, 
Swept  on  from  Avignon,  and  led  his  train 
Up  the  steep  defiles  of  the  rocky  chain : 
Encountering  and  pursuing,  now  they  find 
Their  feet  upon  the  soil  of  Northern  Spain ; 
But  many  a  soldier's  grave  is  left  behind, 
And  bones  of  gallant  steeds  bleach  in  the  mountain 

wind. 

103 


104  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

2. 

Still  on  he  presses  in  his  hopeless  pain, 
Till,  of  the  remnant  of  that  goodly  band 
That  marched  from  the  Palatinate,  remain 
A  few  lorn  men  on  Barcelona's  strand. 
Then  Siegfried  says,  "  I  seek  the  Sacred  Land, 
Dear  friends  !     Will  any  thither  with  me  fare  ? 
If  not,  then  clasp  me  kindly  by  the  hand. 
Forgive  the  rashness  of  my  wild  despair. 
To  land  you  nearer  home,  before  we  part,  my  care." 

3- 

Not  as  a  soldier,  but  a  pilgrim,  turned 
The  Count  to  sacred  soil,  and  every  man, 
Outworn  with  war,  for  home  and  country  yearned. 
To  Toulon's  port,  with  western  breeze,  he  ran, 
Landed  the  homeward  bound,  and  then  began 
His  lonely  wanderings.     From  the  scanty  few 
Returned  to  Treves,  deploring  their  lord's  plan 
Of  pilgrim  exile,  Father  Anselm  drew 
His  hope:    that  Siegfried  fled  toward    Palestine   he 
knew. 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT.  105 

4- 

The  long,  long  year  of  journeying  is  o'er, 
The  father's  weary  step  its  course  fulfils ; 
But  he  must  strive  to-day  as  ne'er  before 
To  reach  yon  convent  'mid  the  Syrian  hills. 
Upward  he  struggles,  while  each  worn  nerve  thrills 
With  failing  effort.     Ah  !  he  faints,  he  falls ; 
But  now,  cool  water,  fresh  from  mountain  rills, 
Pours  through  his  lips,  a  gracious  accent  calls ; 
Strong,  manly   arms   bear   him    within   the   convent 
walls. 


5- 

In  the  cool  hospice  laid,  all  pale  and  wan, 
O'er  him  the  friend  who  saved  him  bows  his  head ; 
A  pilgrim,  but  a  young  and  vigorous  man, 
Who,  from  his  youth,  a  soldier's  life  had  led. 
Weary,  last  night,  he  sought  a  tranquil  bed 
Amid  these  hills,  within  the  convent's  wall. 
At  sunset,  now,  upon  his  way  he  sped, 
Hastes  toward  the  father  as  he  sees  him  fall, 
Lifts,  succors,  bears  him  safe  into  the  cloistered  hall. 


106  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

6. 

On  the  pure  brow  and  aged  features  sweet 

The  glance  of  sad,  young  eyes  a  moment  falls. 

"  Pilgrim  !"   the   father  murmurs,  "  shouldst  thou 

meet 

Siegfried,  Count  Palatine,  say  duty  calls 
Him  to  his  people.     In  his  lonely  halls 
Yet  may  the  ancient  gladness  of  his  home 
Revive.     Tis  his  delay  my  heart  appalls, 
For  he  too  long  deceived,  too  late  may  come. 
Swiftly,  oh !  swiftly,  bid  him  homeward  roam." 

7- 

The  faint  lips  close  in  silence,  and  the  gloom 
Of  wavering  darkness  shrouds  the  appealing  eyes. 
Not  his  the  sobs  that  fill  the  lonely  room, 
Nor  the  deep  sighs.     Lifeless  and  chill  he  lies, 
And  many  a  Syrian  sun  shall  set  and  rise 
O'er  his  unconscious  form.     On  bended  knee, 
"  It  is  Thy  voice,  my  God !"  the  stranger  cries, 
"  That  calls  Thy  wandering  lost  one  back  to  Thee  ! 
That  sends  me,  bowed  with  woe,  my  ruined  home  to 
see." 


"  The  faint  lips  close  in  silence,  and  the  gloom 
Of  wavering  darkness  shrouds  the  appealing  eyes."" 


Page  106. 


GENE  VIE  VE  OF  BRABANT.  107 

8. 

E'en  at  the  gate  he  bade  the  porter  run, 
Call  the  kind  monks,  with  food,  and  wine,  and  aid. 
They  hasten  to  the  hall.     "  Know'st  thou,  my  son, 
This  reverend  stranger?"  the  Superior  said. 
"  Father,  I  know  him  not.     As  forth  I  sped 
My  journey  to  begin,  faltering  and  weak 
I  saw  him  falling,  ran  to  raise  his  head. 
I  bore  him  here,  then  heard  his  kind  lips  speak 
Familiar   names.     No   more   their   silence   they  will 
break. 

9- 

"  He  dies,  I  fear ;  but  if  the  expiring  flame 
Of  life  thy  skill,  thy  kindly  care,  can  save, 
Most  fervent  thanks,  my  father,  thou  may'st  claim, 
And  largesse  noble  shall  this  convent  have. 
If  life  returns,  one  bounty  I  would  crave : 
Tell  him  the  pilgrim  only  left  his  side 
To  do  his  bidding,  and  o'er  land  and  wave 
Pursues  his  way,  whatever  may  betide, 
To  seek  his  ancient  home  and  in  its  halls  abide." 


108  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

10. 

Still  the  swift  courier  sought  his  lord  in  vain. 
From    Treves   departing,   on    he   pressed    through 

France 

To  reach,  in  seaman's  guise,  the  coasts  of  Spain ; 
When,  nearing  Toulon's  port,  he  sees  advance, 
With  drooping  pennon  and  with  broken  lance, 
The  small,  disheartened  home-returning  band,. 
And  learns  his  rightful  course  by  kindly  chance. 
He  follows,  but  is  wrecked  on  Malta's  strand, 
And  many  a  realm  he  sees  before  the  Holy  Land. 

II. 

True  to  his  lord  and  Father  Anselm  both, 
Through  wandering  and  through  shipwreck  still  he 

bore 

The  jewels,  and  the  scroll  of  linen  cloth, 
Safe  in  the  secret  girdle  that  he  wore. 
It  was  his  errand  home  to  bring  this  store 
Of  costly  gems  to  serve  Count  Siegfried's  need ; 
He  deeming,  when  he  sought  a  distant  shore, 
And  rushed  to  exile  with  indignant  speed, 
His  train  would  follow,  and  their  welfare  he  must  heed. 


GENE -VI 'EVE   OF  BRABANT. 


12. 


IQ9 


For  his  own  service  single  jewels  rare 
Of  his  sword's  hilt  or  poniard's  sheath  suffice. 
The  faithful  courier  he  had  bade  repair 
To  Jaffa's  port  should  unseen  barriers  rise 
Checking  his  course  toward  Spain.    -Now  safely  lies 
His  barque  beside  the  shore,  and  lingering  here 
Day  after  day  he  scans  with  eager  eyes 
Each  passing  form.     At  last!  at  last!  draws  near, 
Sadly,  in  pilgrim  garb,  the  Count,  his  master  dear. 

13- 
"  Welcome,    Count   Siegfried  !"      "Godfrey !     loyal 

friend ! 

Waiting,  unwearied,  faithful  to  thy  lord ! 
Ah !  fain  I  would  thy  wanderings  here  might  end  : 
But  farther  still  I  yet  must  strain  the  cord 
Of  duteous  service,  escort  to  afford 
A  reverend  man,  if  still,  indeed,  he  live. 
Take  with   thee  followers, — spear  and   lance   and 

sword, — 

Bearers  and  guides.     Oh,  may  he  yet  survive 
To  reach  my  home,  and  blessed  aid  and  counsel  give!" 


1 10  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

14. 

"  My  lord,  I  too  have  met  a  holy  man, 
And  bear  his  secret  scroll  prepared  for  thee. 
Near  the  Moselle  awhile  his  journey  ran 
Beside  our  own.     He  sought  the  hall  with  me, 
And  on  this  linen  cloth  wrote  clear  and  free. 
He  bound  me  with  a  vow  of  high  command 
To  guard  it  till  thy  face  I  yet  should  see." 
Siegfried  receives  the  scroll,  unwinds  the  band, 
And,    reading,   veils    his    tears    beneath    his    manly 

hand. 

IS- 

At  length  he  breaks  the  silence.     "  Tis  the  same. 
One  whisper  from  his  living  lips  were  worth 
More  than  my  home,  my  country,  or  my  name. 
From  the  Moselle  he  doubtless  journeyed  forth 
On  pilgrimage,  to  touch  the  sacred  earth 
Of  Palestine.     I  knew  him  from  the  North, 
For  in  our  tongue  his  startling  words  were  spoken. 
I  think  our  very  land  his  place  of  birth : 
But,  e'en  if  not,  pray  him,  by  every  token 
He   has   vouchsafed,   to    come   before    this   clue    be 
broken. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  m 

1  6. 

"  Now  haste,  my  Godfrey  !     Swiftly  seek  thy  train. 
Divide  with  me  the  jewels  thou  dost  bear. 
Here  shall  thy  vessel  by  the  strand  remain 
Awaiting  thee  when  seaward  thou  dost  fare. 
If  still  the  father  lives,  with  tender  care, 
In  easy  litter,  o'er  the  mountain  way 
Lead  him.    My  homeward  barque  I  straight  prepare  ; 
And  fail  not  to  the  holy  man  to  say 
Count  Siegfried   speeds   to   Treves   his    mandate   to 
obey." 


The  morning  glowed  along  the  eastern  wave,  ' 
And  a  gay  barque  rejoicing  in  her  light, 
Free  to  the  early  breeze  the  white  sail  gave, 
And  bounded  gladly  o'er  the  billows  bright. 
Now  the  far  Syrian  shores  are  lost  to  sight, 
And  grateful  hope  the  seaman's  heart  beguiles  ; 
No  tempests  toss,  nor  treacherous  seas  affright, 
On  old  Laconia's  heights  the  daylight  smiles, 
And  fragrance  round  him  breathes  from  sunny  Grecian 
isles. 


H2  GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT. 

1 8. 

Nor  hope  elates  the  seaman's  heart  alone. 
Who  looks,  impatient,  from  that  vessel's  prow  ? 
An  eager  votary  from  a  distant  zone 
By  crumbling  fane  and  ruined  shrine  to  bow? 
No,  for  a  holier  fane  hath  heard  his  vow  : 
To  seek  the  dearer  shrine  of  home  he  flies. 
Some  glorious  Greek  might  own  that  lordly  brow, 
The  pure,  firm  outlines  and  the  deep,  sad  eyes, 
The  waving  hair  and  cheek  rich  with  warm   sunny 
dyes. 

19. 

But  anxious  hope  is  whelmed  in  dread  and  pain 
As  slowly  sink  and  die  the  favoring  gales, 
While  baffling  western  winds  their  course  restrain 
And  press  them  back  ;  or  deathly  calm  prevails 
And  feebly  flapping  hang  the  idle  sails. 
The  deep,  sad  eyes  dwell  on  the  cruel  sea 
In  anguish.     The  rash  ardor  he  bewails 
That  led  him  thus  his  native  land  to  flee ; 
Lest  all  too  late  return  and  reparation  be. 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT.  ] 

20. 

Through  many  a  starless  night  and  sunless  day, 
Tossing,  or  cradled  in  unwelcome  rest, 
In  the  Levant  his  hapless  vessel  lay, 
Her  prow  still  veering  from  the  longed-for  west. 
But  Siegfried  in  his  yearning  heart  repressed 
The  torture  of  regret,  that,  melting,  grows 
To  tender  penitence.     Then  from  his  breast 
The  first  pure  prayer  of  resignation  flows, 
And  in  submissive  faith  his  spirit  finds  repose. 


21. 

Ah,  Siegfried !  bless  the  baffling  winds,  thy  gain 
Lay  in  suspense,  distress,  and  anguish  keen ; 
Wholesome  the  knife  of  sacrificial  pain, 
Healing,  renewing,  where  its  touch  hath  been. 
Now  smile  the  clear,  dark  eyes  with  light  serene, 
And  self-control  sits  monarch  on  the  brow, 
The  sculptured  features  and  the  noble  mien 
The  gloom  of  dread  remorse  no  longer  know ; 
Radiant  with  finer,  sweeter,  loftier  grace  they  glow. 


1 14  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

22. 

Oh !  speed  at  length,  good  barque,  and  bear  him 

home, 

E'en  though  the  joy  he  looks  for  be  not  there ! 
If  now  within  its  halls  the  master  come 
More  than  their  ancient  gladness  may  they  wear. 


The  marble  terrace  gleams  in  sunset  air 
Lonely  beneath  the  laurel-shaded  height, 
And  lonely  lie  the  blooming  gardens  fair: 
Throbs  the  high  heart,  curbing  with  steadfast  might 
Each   pulse,  as  the  dear  scene  glows   through   the 
waning  light. 

23- 

The  warder's  summons  to  the  portal  calls 
The  faithful  few  who  guard  their  lord's  domain, 
And  joyous  welcome  rings  within  the  walls 
As  the  dear,  gracious  face  they  greet  again. 
"  Brief  rest  within  the  hall  awhile  I  gain  ; 
At  night  to  Treves  I  ride.     Let  my  old  steed 
Be  ready  !     So  my  quest  be  not  in  vain 
I  come  with  fervent  joy,  among  you  to  remain." 


''  Oh  !  speed  at  length,  good  barque,  and  bear  him  home, 
E'en  though  the  joy  he  looks  for  be  not  there" 


Page  114 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT.  115 

24. 

Forth  o'er  the  plain  they  sweep.    The  gallant  steed 
Glorying,  his  master  once  again  to  bear, 
And  the  strong  knight  rejoicing  in  his  speed. 
Sweet  the  familiar  aspect  all  things  wear: 
By  the  Moselle  they  bend,  and  oh  !  how  fair, 
Beneath  the  leafy  arches  gleams  its  tide ! 
But  now  to  reach  those  walls  his  only  care, 
Within  which,  as  he  deems,  doth  one  abide 
Who  for  his  urgent  quest  will  find  a  fitting  guide. 

25- 

Before  the  convent  gate  he  draws  the  rein  : 
Swiftly  and  well  the  gallant  steed  hath  sped; 
But  swifter  yet  the  rush  o'er  heart  and  brain 
Of  surging  hopes.     He  bent  his  stately  head 
Before  the  aged  monk,  and  gently  said, 
"  Dwells  Brother  Anselm  here  ?  for  I  would  fain 
Greet  him."     "  Alas  !  we  fear  that  he  is  dead  : — 
Dear  Father  Marco  knew, — did  he  remain, 
But    long    within    his    grave    hath    Father    Marco 
lain. 


Il6  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

26. 

"  He  died  in  the  deep  night,  and  made  no  sign. 
At  morn  we  found  him  cold  within  his  cell, 
But  on  his  lips  a  smile  of  peace  divine 
Rested,  and  seemed  to  bid  us  kind  farewell. 
None  can  the  fate  of  Brother  Anselm  tell 
Since  then,  or  whence  he  came,  or  whither  went  ; 
For  as  a  holy  hermit  he  did  dwell, 
His  life  in  prayer  and  deeds  of  mercy  spent. 
We  only  know  that    North    his    homeward   footstep 
bent." 

27. 

"  Adieu  !"  with  faltering  voice  Count  Siegfried  said. 
"  Shouldst  thou  have  tidings,  let  me  hear,  I  pray." 
Dimmed  is  the  eye's  clear  radiance,  and  the  red 
That  glowed  on  the  brown  cheek  has  died  away. 
A  sad,  lone  man,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  ray, 
With  vanquished  hopes  he  turns  him  from  the  gate; 
Northward  he  rides,  until  the  morning  gray 
Dawns  o'er  him  pacing  sad  and  desolate. 
One  chance  remains.     For  Godfrey's  coming  patient 
will  he  wait. 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT.  117 

28. 

Athwart  the  glory  of  the  autumn  wood 
The  first  warm  gleam  of  morning  sunshine  came, 
The  massive  trunks  like  golden  columns  stood 
And  bore  aloft  their  crests  of  living  flame, 
And  branches  bright  with  gems  of  every  name. 
Dewy  and  silent  lay  the  grassy  glade, 
The  encircling  wood  a  minster  vast  became, 
O'er  arching  boughs  long  aisles  of  splendor  made, 
On  jewelled  casements  high  swift  light  and  shadow 
played. 

29. 

And  through  this  glorious  cathedral  glide 
The  votaries.     Hand  clasped  in  hand  they  pass 
'Neath  towering  chestnut  arches,  by  the  side 
Of  the  pure  font  more  crystal  clear  than  glass, 
And  gently  tread  the  floor  of  swarded  grass, 
Lovely  as  angel  forms  in  Paradise ; — 
A  radiant,  joyous  child,  with  clustering  mass 
Of  soft,  fair  hair  above  the  sweet,  deep  eyes, 
And  outline  pure,  and  cheek  rich  with  warm,  sunny 
dyes. 


U8  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

30. 

The  linen  white,  the  woollen  tunic  fair 
Girdled  above  it,  showed  his  vigorous  knee 
And  shapely  limb,  nourished  by  sun  and  air, 
And  the  small  rosy  foot  trod  light  and  free 
Amid  fresh  fern  and  dewy  grass ; — but  she, 
The  lovely  mother,  moving  in  serene 
And  stately  grace  and  tender  purity 
And  glowing  beauty,  seemed  the  gentle  queen, 
Like   Eve  in  her  young  world,  of  this  fair  sylvan 
scene. 

31- 

A  gown  and  kirtle  of  pale  olive  hue, 

Befitting  as  the  calyx  fits  the  rose, 

Unfaded  by  the  sun,  unharmed  by  dew, 

The  graceful  form  in  silken  web  enclose. 

Ah !  well  the  boy  the  treasured  vesture  knows; 

It  is  the  birthday  robe  the  mother  wears 

Kept  for  his  festivals.     Around  her  flows 

The    wealth     of    long,    fair,    rippling    hair,    that 

bears 
An  ivy  band  above  a  brow  untouched  by  years. 


GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT.  119 

32. 

The  bounding  child  forsakes  his  mother's  hand 
And  in  the  little  pannier  that  he  bore, 
By  his  small  fingers  made,  from  willow  wand, 
Gathers  the  burnished  chestnuts  ample  store. 
"  Look  !  my  dear  mother,  look  !  all  these,  and  more. 
Dear  little  merry  brown  fellows,  I've  found : 
From  out  the  rough,  green  jackets  that  they  wore, 
Through  the  thick  leaves  they  leap  with  rustling 

sound, 
And,  shining  in  the  sun,  lie  on  the  grassy  ground." 


33- 

The  mother  looks  :  love  fills  her  smiling  eyes. 
"  My  little  merry  brown  fellow  thou  art, 
My  Hubert!     When  I  see  the  joy  that  lies 
Thus  hidden  for  thee  in  the  deep  wood's  heart, 
Ne'er  would  I  from  this  refuge  blest  depart, 
So  thy  dear  father  could  be  with  us  here." 
From  Hubert's  eyes  glad  eager  glances  dart : 
"  Oh,  tell  me  of  him  now,  my  mother  dear ! 
And  Roland  !     Will  they  come  before  another  year?" 


120  GENE  VIE  VE  OF  BRABANT. 

34- 

"Ah !  that  is  still  the  tale  we  love  the  best : 
Of  thy  dear  father  and  his  charger  white. 
Then  sit  by  me,  my  darling  boy,  and  rest 
And  listen,     Thy  dear  father  is  a  knight ; 
And  knights  are  kind,  pure,  brave ;  for  truth  and 

right 

They  give  their  lives,  no  falsehood  do  they  know. 
Stately  thy  father's  form,  his  cheek  is  bright 
Like  thine,  his  fair  hair  waves,  his  dark  eyes  glow. 
Roland  is  silver  white,  swift,  gentle,  like  thy  doe. 

35- 

"  And  thou  must  be  a  noble  knight,  my  boy ! 
'Neath  God's  own  care  in  the  great  forest  nursed, 
Yet  shalt  thou  grow  to  be  thy  father's  joy. 
In  what  despair  I  bore  thee  here  at  first ! 
Now  leaps  my  heart  to  think  thou  art  not  curst 
With  weakness,  pallor,  all  the  ills  that  grow 
In  lordly  homes."    Swift  through  the  thicket  burst, 
Just  then,  with  graceful  bound,  the  milk-white  doe, 
Leaped  o'er  the  glade,  and  couched  beside  them  close 
and  low. 


GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT.  I2i 

36. 

Is  the  doe  followed  by  some  gentle  deer, 
Slow  gliding  through  the  trees,  and  gleaming  white? 
It  gains  the  glade  and  moves  in  sunshine  clear, 
A  snowy  steed  led  by  a  stately  knight 
The  lovely,  fearless  boy,  swift  at  the  sight, 
Sprang  to  his  feet  with  glowing  face  and  smiled, 
Stretched  out  his  arms,  and  called  in  deep  delight, 
"  My  father  !"     Then  one  cry  of  rapture  wild 
Rings  forth,  and  Siegfried's  arms  enfold  his  wife  and 
child. 


37- 

No  words  !  no  words  !    Tears  veil  each  radiant  face ; 
Low  cries  are  pressed  from  hearts  that  throb  too  fast 
For  speech ;  and  in  that  passionate  embrace 
Of  tried  and  chastened  love  the  darkness  past 
Is  lost  forever ;  morning  dawns  at  last. 
But  Hubert's  little  face  uplifted  glows 
With  gladness,  yet  with  fear.     A  joy  so  vast 
Seems  almost  terror.     Ah  !  full  soon  he  knows 
The  double  home  of  love  those  twining  arms  enclose. 


122  GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT. 

38. 

At  length  the  sad  sweet  tale  is  told ;  the  doe 
By  the  fond  father's  grateful  hand  caressed  ; 
Now  the  dear  boy  the  milk-white  steed  must  know, 
Must  choose  the  bank  where  grass  and  shade  are 

best, 

And  see  him  tethered  by  the  stream  at  rest. 
Then  Siegfried,  from  the  doublet  that  he  wore, 
Drew  forth  a  hidden  packet,  closely  pressed. 
"  This  token  of  my  bitter  loss  I  bore 
Next  to  my  heart,  dear  love,  o'er  every  sea  and  shore." 

39- 

Above  the  robe  of  clear  pale,  olive  hue 
He  folds  the  silken  cloak,  then,  deftly  led 
By  loving  hands  the  secret  portal  through, 
Beneath  the  verdurous  screen  he  bends  his  head, 
And  the  cave  echoes  to  his  stately  tread. 
He  climbs  the  sharp  ascent ;  the  rocky  floor 
He  sees,  the  gathered  boughs,  the  fragrant  bed, 
The  loom,  the  distaff,  all  the  frugal  store 
Of  food ;  then  hides  his  face  in  manly  weeping  sore. 


GENE VIE VE   OF  BRABANT.  i2$ 

40. 

"  Weep  not,  my  Siegfried  !     Ne'er  was  lordly  hall 
Fair  as  this  cave  to  me  since  thou  art  here ! 
Abide  with  us  until  the  evening  fall, 
And  see  our  glowing  fire,  our  blithesome  cheer. 
Before  our  reverend  guardian,  kind  and  dear, 
Good  Father  Anselm,  left  us,  life  was  sweet 
And  blessed,  save  for  alternating  fear 
And  hope  for  thee,  beloved  one !     Now  his  feet 
Wander  in  distant  lands,  still  trusting  thee  to  meet." 

41. 

"  Then  Father  Anselm  saved  the  precious  wife, 
The  darling  child  my  guilty  madness  lost, 
Rescued,  preserved,  restored  me  more  than  life, 
And  he,  the  guardian  and  the  generous  host, 
Himself  has  paid  the  bitter,  painful  cost. 
Unknown,  I  met  him  'neath  the  Syrian  sky, 
Fainting  and  falling  and  by  fever  tost ; 
Unknown,  he  bade  me  swiftly  homeward  fly. 
God  grant  me  yet  the  power  to  thank   him  ere  I 
die!" 


124  GENEVIEVE   OF  BRABANT. 

42. 

And  Heaven,  benign,  that  fervent  wish  fulfils. 
While  rocked  in  the  Levant  Count  Siegfried  lay, 
To  the  lone  convent  'mid  the  Syrian  hills 
Godfrey  has  made  his  swift  and  eager  way ; 
Finds  the  dear  father  rescued  from  the  sway 
Of  dire  disease; — the  veins  by  temperance  fed 
Each  impulse  of  returning  health  obey. 
Homeward  with  favoring  gales  their  vessel  sped ; 
And    even    now   the    twain    the    mossy   wood-path 
tread. 

43- 

Then  was  there  meeting  such  as  this  old  earth 
Scarce  in  her  centuries  of  life  has  known : 
The  glow  of  gratitude,  the  gracious  birth 
Of  souls  renewed  by  penitence,  and  grown 
Worthy  of  bliss  through  paths  of  pain  alone. 
With  joy  too  deep  was  every  bosom  filled, 
Till  rose  the  father's  tender,  reverent  tone 
In  benediction ;  then  each  heart  was  stilled, 
And  peace  o'erflowed  the  nerves  with  conscious  rap- 
ture thrilled. 


•  As  sunset  o'er  the  glmuing  forest  dies 
The  lady  Genevieve,  on  Roland  white, 
Glides  down  the  mossy  wood -path." 


Page  125. 


GENE VI EVE   OF  BRABANT. 


125 


44- 

As  sunset  o'er  the  glowing  forest  dies 
The  lady  Genevieve,  on  Roland  white, 
Glides  down  the. mossy  wood-path;  her  sweet  eyes 
Dewy  with  memories, — glad  with  love's  pure  light, 
While,  at  her  side,  her  noble,  stalwart  knight 
Guides  the  good  steed,  and  by  the  farther  hand 
Leads  the  fair  boy,  all  rosy  with  delight. 
Beneath  the  moon  at  their  own  gates  they  stand ; 
And,  entering,  live  to  bless  their  happy,  loyal  land. 

45- 

Drinking  from  Nature's  holy  chalice  still, 
To  grand  and  vigorous  manhood  Hubert  grew ; — 
Serene  and  glad  of  heart  and  firm  of  will, 
Reverent  of  soul  and  pure  and  brave  and  true ; — 
A  stainless  knight,  who  never  falsehood  knew, 
Who  worshipped  God  and  made  the  poor  his  care. 
Still  o'er  the  wood-path  his  young  footstep  flew 
To  Father  Anselm  aid  and  cheer  to  bear ; 
And   still   around   him    pressed    the   forest  creatures 
fair. 


126  GENE  VIE  VE   OF  BRABANT. 

46. 

Watching  by  Nature's  fountain  heads  he  saw, 
In  ceaseless  change,  her  steadfast  order  still, 
Through  her  fair  sequence  traced  the  loving  law, 
In  her  majestic  force  the  living  will, 
And  in  her  beauty  knew  the  matchless  skill, — 
The  MASTER'S  Touch, — in  endless  blest  employ 
All  form,  all  life  with  grace  and  charm  to  fill. 
The  Love,  the  Power,  the  glorious  Beauty  thrill 
The  man's  strong  spirit  with  diviner  joy 
Than  in  life's  morning  hour  shone  round  the  happy  boy. 

47- 

And  his  dear  mother,  where  the  bright  stream  wells 
In  rippling  murmur,  near  the  grassy  glade, 
A  forest  chapel  built.     There  silver  bells 
Poured  their  clear  music :  there  the  father  prayed, 
And  there  his  reverend  form,  at  last,  was  laid. 
"  Our  Lady's  Church"  its  name ;  and  here,  at  rest, 
Where  her  young  Hubert  in  his  childhood  played  ; 
In  this  sweet  refuge,  this  fair  woodland  nest, 
She  sleeps,  with  him  her  love  from  youth  to  age  had 
blest. 


NOTE. 


ST.  GENEVIEVE  lived  in  the  days  of  Charles  Mattel,  who,  in 
some  versions  of  the  legend,  is  said  to  have  acted  as  her  champion. 
At  that  time  Brabant  (since  absorbed  in  Belgium)  existed  as  an 
independent  dukedom.  The  Forest  of  Ardennes,  which  in  Csesar's 
time  was  only  bounded  by  the  Rhine,  still  extended  to  the  Moselle, 
including  a  vast  territory  within  its  limits.  Tradition  places 
Siegfried's  castle  at  the  junction  of  the  Moselle  and  the  Sarre, 
indicates  a  cave  in  the  Laach  region  as  Genevieve's  shelter  during 
her  forest-life,  and  gives  the  name  of  the  church, — "  Die  Frauen 
Kirche" — built  by  her  in  grateful  remembrance  of  her  preservation 
and  deliverance. 


127 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


4WKQCT28 

5V  03 '97    RECC 


Form  L9-42»n-8,'49(B5573)444 


tJNIVEKSlTY  OF 

LOS  ANGELKS 


PS         Billing  - 
3319     Genevieve  of 

i->!r*e»  OdH,  v  4 

in  verse 


PS 

3319 

"87g 


